


Lets Kill Saturday Night

by Idwff



Series: Meet Me At The Finish Line [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, But no graphic drug use by main characters, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Multi, artist!Cas, eventual destiel, stuntman!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idwff/pseuds/Idwff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three years since Dean and Castiel parted ways, both letting go and moving on. An unexpected tragedy brings Dean back to Kansas, and in turn, back to Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from this song:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOBJgDc_eKY  
> Silkworms cover of Lets Kill Satuday Night by Robbie Fulks.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a lawyer or a police officer or any other type of thing that has vast knowledge of how those jobs work so if I've got something wrong when it come to that aspect of this story, I apologize. I've tried my best to look up things so not a huuuuuge chunk of stuff will be wrong, but I'm sure I'm bending reality a bit. Whoops.

California was the key to all of his dreams. All of Dean’s Jason Statham-related dreams, anyway.

 

For months after his college graduation, Dean continued working at the auto parts shop where he’d been since their settling in California. About six months after obtaining his degree, a disgruntled customer wearing an overly expensive suit crashed into the shop demanding help with his car because he was in a rush. When Dean followed the man outside, he was greeted by the sight of a completely refurbished 1970 El Camino double parked on the two closest spaces. Technically, clerks weren’t supposed to physically help customers with their cars because if something went wrong the customer could possibly sue the person or the store, but the guy was persuasive and Dean was maybe a bit eager to get a look under the hood of that beauty. He assured the man that he was qualified, mentioning not only his degree in Mechanical Engineering, but gesturing across the parking lot to his own muscle car, dazzling like new.  In a matter of minutes he’d diagnosed the problem, that unfortunately could not be fixed right there in the parking lot, and found the man a decent, speedy rental company nearby that would deliver him a car while his was towed to a specialty garage downtown that Dean had recommended. A week later, the same car rumbled into the parking lot of the store, the same man making his way to the counter in a much calmer manner than the last time he’d been there. He thanked Dean for his help and apologized for how pushy he’d been. Dean waved him off, assuring him that it had been a pleasure to get the chance to look under the hood of such a gorgeous car. And then…he offered Dean a job. He was stunned. The man worked with production companies, managing huge factories and shops that built custom parts for Hollywood movie sets. He had said that they needed more people in the shops who knew their way around older vehicles because racing movies were making a rise again. So Dean took his business card, guy’s name was Rufus Turner, and walked away with a practical hands-on interview with the production company warehouse in Sacramento.

That interview was the starting block of all of Dean’s success. Only a few months after he started working at the warehouse, Rufus recommended him for a job on sets doing special effects and maintaining the machinery instead of building in the warehouse. Dean was stunned, but he had to turn down Rufus’ offer to work internationally and instead made up a contract to keep him working on sets in the western states. There was no way he was going to spend half of his life on planes, flying to and from work. No thank you to flying death traps.

Dean was happy. California made him feel good and useful. He was finally living again after the dramatic explosion of his first love lost. Now Cas was just a thing of his past, one that he occasionally thought about, but would never admit to it out loud. He didn’t even visit home anymore, because Kansas was a part of his past. He hadn't been back since the move, much preferring for his family and friends to come to California instead. Castiel was right to trust his brother’s warning. Dean left Kansas the first chance he got because a Kansas boy wasn’t what he was meant to be.  He dated sporadically, but didn’t sleep with anyone until more than a year after their break up. Once he did, though, he finally felt that the blue-eyed man he left behind no longer owned him, body and soul. He was free. And he was making money, really good money; he was working with what he loved, meeting people like Paul Walker on the set of the billionth Fast & Furious movie and Jason Statham when they were building the custom car for the newest Transporter film. It was Statham that ended up giving Dean his biggest break yet. Statham usually did all of his own stunts, being the badass he is, but during a break in filming the man fractured an ankle and was limited by a doctor from doing his own action scenes in the film. The actor, of course, didn’t listen. He fought the entire way against having a stunt double but eventually he relinquished his action scenes to a well-known stuntman who turned out to be the biggest asshole in the business. Everyone hated working with the guy, Edwin something, because he made an assistant out of everyone, regardless their position on the employment hierarchy. He’d even had the gall to demand that the director go out and get him coffee because all of the PA’s were busy. In short, they all hated him with every fiber of their being, but it was too short of notice to hire someone new. The last week of filming, they were setting up the biggest car chase in the entire movie and Edwin was nowhere to be found. They called and called and called his cell phone, called his agent, even sent a PA to his hotel room, but no one could find him. The director shot as much of the last scenes without the chase as he could with that time, but with only two carless scenes left, they’d exhausted their options in only a matter of hours. Finally, four hours after the bastard was supposed to be on set, he called the producer and told them it wasn’t possible for him to come in. He’d drank far too much the night before and was feeling ill, no way he could drive a car in his condition. The set was a dark, dark place that day. Producers and directors screaming, set crew being ordered to build up and take down sets every half hour based on what the directors thought they could and couldn’t shoot without Edwin. There were no stuntmen in the business with racing specialties who could be at the set that day, so they had no choice but to shut down the entire set and push the filming back until Edwin got his shit together. So Dean, even knowing that it was a long shot, spoke up. He told the producers he could do the stunts, that he used to drag race and he’d be happy to do it. It was an instant no, all around, and Dean was crushed. He was just trying to help. But then Statham, Jason fucking Statham, stepped in and said;

“At least give the kid a chance, will ya? Edwin’s been a fuckbag all through shooting and this one works his ass off.”

And Dean, well, he exploded. Internally, anyway. His blood was boiling and his heart was thundering against his chest. Jason Statham wanted to give him a chance to race as his stunt double! Rufus was on the set, and after a short talk with the producers, he pulled Dean aside. He told him that they’d decided to give him a chance but only after drawing up a quick contract that says Dean gets no credit in the movie. He was untrained and therefore could get the entire studio in a fair bit of trouble if he was caught doing stunts without certification. However, if he did well in filming, they agreed to pay for his stunt training so he could be certified to work emergency stunts in later films if need be. Dean signed the contract with no hesitation and they briefed him on the scenes as quickly and thoroughly as they could. The directors lucked out, really, because the car Dean was driving was one that he’d helped build for the movie and he knew it’s workings like the back of his hand. They gave him several test runs that went smoothly, the only problem being Dean’s inexperience with driving in the required protective gear. Once he got used to the extra padding on his body and in the car, he boosted up to the required speed in no time, impressing both the directors and the producer enough to shoot the scene immediately after. They had to reshoot twice, and Dean worried that he’d done something wrong, but they assured him it was normal to shoot scenes multiple times to get in all possible angles for final editing. The scene was finished, over nine hours later than it should have been, but it was done and the entire staff couldn’t have been happier. Edwin, angry that he’d been cut out of the last scene, refused to come to the wrap party the following week and the staff viewing several months later when editing was finished. Dean nearly cried at the viewing when he saw his chase scene. The windows of the set car were tinted so Dean wasn’t visible, obviously, but he knew that it was him in that car on the big screen, driving like he was meant to. That night, Rufus gave him the information packet for the facility upstate where he was to be trained professionally for stunts and the key to a company apartment in the area where he was to live during training.

“Ya did good, kid,” Statham had told him on his way out that night, arm around his model girlfriend. “I ever need a stuntman again, you’re up.”

Dean grinned and shook his hand, thanking him, and then went about the rest of the preview party in a blissful daze. The next day he made the two hour trek back to his apartment and packed for his long stay upstate for training. He asked Sam to come over and get his mail every week since he lived just a forty five minute drive away in the apartment he and Jessica had moved into after the wedding. It was a quick, but brutal six months at the institute, having trained him not only for high velocity scenes like car chases, but underwater, high altitude, combat, and weaponry as well. He had to attend dozens of seminars as well, and toward the end of training, the CBS studios hired him and several of his fellow trainees to be extras in a police shoot-out scene on CSI.

 When he got back to Sacramento, his production company kept him in engineering and special effects, but allowed him several appearances in their movies as an extra so he could gain entrance into the SAG Union with his experience. He played a zombie in his studio’s modern remake of an old zombie horror flick, he was a dead body on several different shows on the CW, and he even got to play the father of a little girl who had been kidnapped on an episode of NCIS: LA. Once the studio allowed him to write up a contract for stunts, he was unfortunately unable to opt out of international gigs, so his future was to be plagued with anxiety-ridden flights all around the world. The rough physical training that he had to keep up with in order to maintain his job had sculpted his body in ways he’d never intended. The once faintly lined muscles on his abdomen were now chiseled in ways that he’d only seen in magazines and his biceps were at risk of bulging out of his t-shirts when he flexed. Aside from his required training, he didn’t work out, not wanting to become a veiny jock with obnoxiously bulging muscles, but he was more than happy with his newly buff physique. Of course, he did love to remind Sammy on a pretty regular basis that even though the dork was almost a whole head taller than him now, he could still overpower him. Sam didn’t seem to love it as much as he did.

 He continued to play small roles in movies and television shows, but none enough to gain huge recognition, for which he was very happy. Being in movies and television shows was exciting, but he didn’t want to be an actor. He wanted to be the man behind the machines and that’s exactly what he was getting. So many people had to wait half their lives to find the job of their dreams, but Dean’s just fell into his hands over the course of three years. And it wasn’t just the job that was a dream. Dean’s current gig, working as the stunt double for the main character of a post-apocalyptic television series, was just starting to film a new season. The actor he was stunting for, Ezekiel Fairbank, was his boyfriend of six months. He understood Dean’s wish to stay out of the limelight, not pushing him to act as more than a stuntman. They attended the People’s Choice Awards together, where Ezekiel had accepted an award for Favorite Dramatic TV Actor, and when Dean had gotten home there were messages from both his mother and Jo telling him that they’d watched the show and he looked so handsome and that they couldn’t wait to meet Ezekiel when he finally decided to bring him home. Of course, Jo’s message was a tad more threatening than his mothers, demanding that Dean be there for the birth of her and Ash’s first child next month. He called them back, Jo first because she still scared him, even from 1,600 miles away. He and Ezekiel left for England two days later, to start the filming of the second season. He promised his parents that he’d come home once filming was done and he was back in the states, but he knew that once he got back he’d insist that they come to California instead.

On the second day of set, after a grueling scene where Dean had to jump from a high cliff into a freezing body of water a half a dozen times in a row, Dean went back to his trailer for fresh, warm clothes and saw that he had thirteen missed calls from Sam and four from Jo.

When he called Sam back, he picked up just barely after the first ring.

“Dean,” he whimpered into the phone. “Dean, oh my God.”

Dean tensed. Sam sounded like he’d been crying, his voice quiet and wavering. “What’s going on, Sam?”

“It’s Mom,” he rasped. “She was in a car accident-“

“Holy shit,” he interrupted. “Where’s she at? What hospital? Is she okay?”

Sam sniffled into the phone, a choked sob sounding through the earpiece before he spoke again. “She’s gone, Dean,” he whispered. “Mom’s gone.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was rather chilly outside for a Kansas June, but Castiel just tugged his tan cardigan tightly around him and walked quickly toward the space that he and Charlie were renting together, two steaming hot to-go cups of hibiscus tea from the Starbucks in a cup carrier. For the past three years, the redheaded girl had been a Godsend for Castiel. After his breakup with Dean, he kept in occasional contact with Jo, because she told him that you don’t break up with your friends. They emailed a few times a month, texted occasionally, and saw each other once or twice a year, but she could never be the same type of friend to him that she was to Dean. The last time he’d seen her was when they met for lunch in Topeka and she announced the conception of she and Ash’s first child. He had even run into Mary a few times since then and she still treated him with the same politeness that she had when he’d stayed with them during his and Dean’s relationship. The first time was at a grocery store during Thanksgiving, when she’d asked if she could have his address for a Christmas card. He’d given it to her and she sent him cards every Christmas and birthday, like clockwork. And Gabriel, he’d graduated about eight months before Castiel and went on to open his own bakery in Kansas City, but they still saw each other often. Despite his obnoxious mannerisms and all the trouble they’d gotten into together, he was one of Castiel’s best friends. They had both stopped smoking pot after Castiel’s former professor, Ms. Barnes, caught them smoking behind the tech building. She had agreed not to report them, but she confiscated their stash and threatened to pull Castiel’s piece from the art show that semester if she caught him again. 

 But Charlie, the angel that she was, stepped into the role of best female friend with ease, so much so that after he’d graduated with his Bachelor’s in Art & Design, they moved into a roomy three bedroom duplex together in Wichita and rented an office space two blocks away where they both did freelance work in their fields. Castiel was able to work on his paintings and sketches, and then he’d display them in the small window gallery at the front of their shop. In the backroom he had a craft table where he made original glass and chainmaille jewelry, and he bought equipment to print his own illustrations on clothing and accessories, selling those on a site that Charlie had created for him. Charlie was doing private computer security and was a registered home-based technician. They both made decent money, more than enough to pay their bills and keep their shop. 

When he’d first started trying to sell his art, though, Castiel had floundered miserably. He created an Etsy shop of his own and sold one painting over the course of six months. His popularity increased, however, when he submitted several of his pieces to his parent’s New Year’s Eve party for the charity auction. People had bid on his paintings immediately, and at the end of the night his work had made more money for his parent’s charity than any single piece of art had made in ten years. It was the first time any bid had surpassed Balthazar Augustin’s. Castiel had almost expected the older man to be upset, but it was quite the opposite. He congratulated Castiel and complimented his work, even flirted with him a fair bit, but Castiel just blushed profusely and politely excused himself. Of course Balthazar was a good looking man, but he was twenty years older! He ran into the man several other times that night and even exchanged numbers for what Mr. Augustin called “networking”. The networking turned into countless trips to Starbucks and Balthazar taking Castiel to a rec center glass blowing class that he taught. It was Balthazar who had given Castiel the idea to expand from painting and illustration to jewelry and clothing. They spent long nights together, surrounded by chainmaille, beads, and takeout boxes from the Chinese place up the road. Balthazar taught him everything that he knew about the craft and Castiel had begun to warm up to the idea of bedding the older man. They’d gotten close one night, after two bottles of wine and True Blood marathon. Castiel had kissed the older man, and Balthazar had responded immediately. He leaned back into the couch, pulling Castiel on top of him and grinding their bodies together as their tongues tangled. It was only when Balthazar had dipped his hand into the back of Castiel’s pants and rubbed his fingers gently between his cheeks that Castiel froze. He awkwardly asked if Balthazar was a top or a bottom, to which the older man replied that he was strictly a top. Castiel confided in him then about his issue with bottoming, and Balthazar apologized for not bottoming himself, but he’d tried before with previous partners and he just didn’t like it. The moment had passed, but the awkwardness had dissipated soon after. Neither of them were angry, just disappointed that they couldn’t continue. Balthazar had never held it against him after that night, continuing his teachings and even referring his clients with commissions to Castiel when his workload was too much. 

He and Charlie had new friends that they’d picked up along the way over the past year in Wichita, but they found the most comfort in one another’s presence, working together in silence or watching reruns of Star Trek. Charlie and Alannah had separated as well, only a year after him and Dean, but they had stayed on much better terms. Alannah was now living in Texas, and a nurse at her local hospital. Sometimes when she had the time she’d even videochat with Charlie and Castiel, describing to them all of the outrageous injuries that came into the emergency room late at night. He was comfortable with his life, and content in ways that he never thought he could be after…well, after Dean. He grew up and he moved on, and he’s sure that Dean did as well. Jo had always managed to subtly avoid news about Dean when they spoke, but occasionally Castiel caved into his curiosity and would ask how Dean has been. Last he’d heard from her, Dean had been building movie sets in California and doing stuntwork for a few big television shows. It was a career that Castiel had never envisioned for his former lover, but it all seemed so _like him_ that it brought a grin to his face. The smile was almost immediately wiped away, however, once Jo had told him that Dean had avoided coming back to Kansas since he left. He hated to be so narcissistic as to think he played a part in the reasons why, but he refused to let himself dwell on it. 

When Castiel finally walked back into the shop, he headed for the back office where Charlie was writing up some security reports. He set her tea next to her with a smile and she tossed him his cell phone that he’d left behind when he went to the café. 

“Your phone’s been going wild since you left, you social butterfly,” she said with a grin. “Three phone calls and like billion text messages. You and _Monsieur Augustin_ finally gonna do the do?”

Castiel just rolled his eyes at her and snatched the phone from her hand. It’s true that about ninety percent of the texts he received that weren’t from Charlie were from Balthazar, but they were always innocent. When he looked through his missed calls, all three were from Jo. It wasn’t strange for Jo to call him, no, but three times in rapid succession was a bit odd. Usually if he didn’t pick up the first time she’d wait a few hours and try again or just shoot a single text asking whatever she wanted to ask. So he opened his inbox and saw six texts, also all from Jo, saying she needed to speak to him right away. 

He pressed redial on his phone, and Jo picked up after only a few rings. “Castiel?”

“What’s wrong, Jo?” He asked. 

She sniffled into the phone. “I’m sorry, I just…I know it’s not my place to decide what’s important to you because it’s been years since you and Dean broke up, I just, Cas…”

She was rambling, and Jo most certain did _not_ ramble. So to say he was worried was a bit of an understatement. 

“What’s going on?” He asked again. 

“It’s Mary,” Jo said, voice wet with held in sobs. “She was killed in a car accident last night. 

Castiel froze, the scalding hot tea slipping from his hand and crashed to the floor, startling Charlie enough to jump from her seat. 

“No,” he whispered into the phone. “How…what…I mean, does…does he know?”

“Yes,” Jo replied. “My mother is planning the funeral for John because he can’t do it himself. He didn’t tell Sam until this morning because he was out of his damn mind with grief. Sam took the first flight here from California.”

“And Dean?” Castiel asked, voice shaking slightly. 

Jo sniffled again. “He, uh, he’s in England for work. He’s supposed to be there for another month. When Sam finally got ahold of him, I guess he was silent for a while before telling Sam that he had to go. Sam tried to make sure Dean could come home f-for the funeral, and Dean just lost it. He screamed at him, told him that of course he’d be there and he hung up. Sam said he thinks Dean was crying. And he hasn’t answered his phone since.”

Castiel’s heart was breaking. Mary was a wonderful woman who didn’t deserve such a horrible fate. And he ached for John and Sam, and especially Dean, who he feared was flying off the handle. 

“You’ll, uh, you’ll let me know, right?” He asked. “When the funeral is?”

“Of course I will, Cas,” she replied. 

“Thank you. Thank you for telling me. I have to….I think I need a minute to myself.”

“I understand,” she said softly. I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah of course. Goodbye, Jo.”

“Bye Cas.”

When he pressed the end button, he noticed that Charlie had gotten some towels from the other room and started putting them over the puddle of tea. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked him, getting up from her place on the floor. 

“Dean’s mom,” he replied. “She was killed in a car wreck last night.”

Charlie gasped and drew Castiel into a hug. It was a short show of affection, though, because she stepped away when Castiel didn’t immediately hug her back. Charlie always read him well. 

She looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Did you really want a few minutes to yourself?”

“I…uh…” he started, but just nodded instead. 

She grabbed her wallet from the side of her computer and gently squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll go around the block and get myself a new cup of tea. You can have mine, okay? I’ll be back. I’m so sorry, Cas.”

She headed out the door without another word and he picked up the sodden towels from the floor to dispose of them before slumping down onto the small sofa on the other side of the room. Mary was gone. The sweet, wonderful woman who had treated him so well was gone. 

He always envisioned, even after all this time, that he’d see Dean again someday. But what he never could have imagined, was that it would be at a funeral.


	3. Chapter 3

It was raining the day the Winchester’s buried Mary. Cold droplets falling brusquely from the unforgivingly grey sky. It was appropriate, this weather and the sadness it exuded, because losing someone like Mary meant that a light had gone out in the world. Solemn, tear-streaked faces were hidden beneath a line of umbrellas, all watching and waiting to say goodbye for the last time as Mary’s casket hovered over its spot in the earth. Dozens upon dozens of people were huddled around, as Mary was a well-loved woman, and they were all listening to the Pastor’s final words. 

John Winchester sat stone-faced in the center, staring silently at the closed casket before him. To his left, Sam was there. He was a whole head taller than the last time Castiel had seen him, but he managed to look small and frail under the weight of his grief. From where Castiel stood, behind all of the Winchester’s family and friends, he could see a young blonde woman’s head resting on Sam’s left shoulder. He assumed that it was Jessica, having heard from Jo that she and Sam were married now. Jo and her mother were sitting behind the Winchesters. The only person missing was Dean. The seat to John’s right remained heartbreakingly empty throughout the entire service, and Castiel had begun to hear several whispers from the crowd as the proceeding headed toward the end.  The two women standing to his left had been gossiping in hushed tones since the beginning of the service, and he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but once he heard Dean’s name he couldn’t help himself. 

_“And Dean won’t even be here,”_ one whispered angrily to the other. “ _His mother’s own funeral and the spoiled rotten brat can’t even leave Hollywood for a day. Mary’s father told me that Dean hasn’t even spoken to anyone since he found out.”_

 _“Just awful,”_ The other woman said, shaking her head. _“And I heard that John hasn’t been sober since she passed. I bet he’s drunk as a skunk up there as we speak.”_

Castiel seethed behind them for the duration of the service, biting his tongue and trying desperately not to ruin Mary’s burial by assaulting her family members or friends, no matter how insolent they were acting. John Winchester was not a drunk, he was a grief-stricken husband who just lost the love of his life. It may not be the best coping mechanism to swim to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, but Castiel didn’t blame him. Losing Mary hurt him and he wasn’t even her family. He couldn’t even imagine a fraction of John’s pain. And Dean. He had thought that he’d come to the funeral and pay his respects to the Winchesters, all of them, like a civil adult who was sharing the sadness of losing a wonderful woman, but he had never prepared himself for how broken-hearted he’d be if Dean wasn’t there. Why in the hell wasn’t Dean there? Those women said he wouldn’t leave work to come back for a day, but that couldn’t be it, could it? Of course not. It may have been three years away from Dean, and they were surely both different people now, but Castiel knew Dean well enough to be sure that he’d never miss his own mother’s funeral. Dean loved his mother dearly, loved his entire family, and he’d never miss his opportunity to say goodbye with them, to sit at his father’s side and be the solid steel strength both John and Sam needed to get through. And Castiel’s heart ached just a little more at that, at knowing that somewhere Dean was driving himself insane with worry because he was missing this. He had to be having a meltdown at the thought of Sam and his father by his mother’s graveside without him. 

Just as the Pastor had finished his speaking, dismissing the guests and welcoming them to say their final goodbyes before the casket was lowered, Castiel made a decision. He ran back to his car as fast as he could, mud and grass caking on his shoes and the hem of his nicest slacks. When he reached his car he immediately set his fingers to untying the braid of trinkets that were tied around his rearview mirror, and once he had the mess of items disentangled, he grabbed the object he was after and headed back to the burial site. There was a line of people walking slowly past the casket, setting roses atop closed door and saying their silent goodbyes before moving to give John and Sam a hug, handshake, or a well wishing for the future. 

Castiel took the thing in his hand, the still-beaten-up suede cord that had never been replaced, and the glass pendant that had more than a few chips on its surface, and he stood with the waiting crowd for his turn to say goodbye. When he finally made it to the casket, he was the last person there, all the others having crowded around John, Sam, and Jessica to say goodbye and offer them any help they might need. So he laid the necklace among a bed of flowers and let his fingers play with the suede cord as he spoke. 

“It’ll be a shame to let this go,” he said quietly. The tears he’d held in all day finally brimmed at his eyelids as he spoke. “But if anyone else in the world gets to have this, Mary, I’m glad it’s you. Dean gave this to me when he loved me a long time ago. I don’t know why he isn’t here and I’m sorry, but I know that Dean loves you. And I love you too, even though you weren’t my mother. You were always so kind to me, even when you had no reason to be. Keep it safe for me, okay?”

He traced his finger over the snake pendant and the wings one last time before backing away from the coffin and wiping at his damp eyes. Jo spotted him for the first time a few seconds later, waddling up to him as quickly as her heavily pregnant form allowed her to. She hugged him with crushing force and cried into his shoulder for several seconds before pulling away. 

“I’m glad you made it,” she said in a shaky voice. 

He nodded back at her. “Me too. Where is—“

“Cas?” a voice interrupted. 

Castiel looked up and saw Sam coming toward him. He mustered up a small, sympathetic smile for the man. The man who had been a mere boy, though a tall one, the last time he’d seen him. Sam gave a weak smile back and pulled Castiel into a hug as soon as he reached him. 

“It’s good to see you, man,” Sam said. His voice was wavering and his eyes were rimmed with redness, but he was still just as polite as he ever was and it tore Castiel up inside. 

“You as well, Sam,” he replied. “I am…so sorry.”

Sam just nodded and looked at the ground. Only seconds later John joined them, clapping a hand over Sam’s shoulder and staring at the casket, that was now being slowly lowered into the ground below. Several others, Ellen and Jessica included, joined them, all giving Sam and John sympathetic and supportive pats to the shoulder or a loving squeeze to the neck while they watched Mary’s coffin disappear. 

Squealing tires had all of the mourners jerking in surprise, looking to the car pathway with deep, disapproving frowns. But hope bloomed in Castiel’s chest when he saw a big, black car speeding down the drive. The driver swerved and parked messily on the side of the road, throwing open the car door and barreling toward the burial site without even bothering to shut off the car. It was Dean. His hair was frayed like he’d been grasping at it and barely refraining from ripping it out at the follicle and his suit was a mess. He ran quickly up the slightly elevated land of the cemetery, one single white rose in hand, swerving around other surprised mourners. 

“Wait!” he called out. “Stop!” 

The funeral procession workers stopped the lowering of the casket just as Dean was approaching. Without giving him a moment to catch his breath, both Sam and John crushed Dean to them in a bone-jarring hug. He watched for another moment while Dean turned to his mother’s casket and wiped stray tears from his eyes with his coatsleeve. The moment he watched Dean lower himself to his knees before the half-lowered coffin to place the rose on top, Castiel turned to leave. He felt like an intruder here, watching a family that he didn’t belong to mourn. He took exactly three steps before he heard Dean utter his name in a voice just barely loud enough to hear. And Castiel couldn’t restrain himself. He turned to find Dean, still kneeling on the ground before his mother’s coffin, stroking reverently over the necklace Castiel had placed there only moments ago. And then his head shot up, eyes searching the crowd for Castiel. When tearful green eyes finally met his, Castiel saw Dean’s frame jerk slightly like a breath had been punched out of him. He turned back to his mother’s casket and said a few words before smiling and kissing his fingers, only to touch them gently to door of her coffin. When he stood, he hugged his father and his brother again briefly before making his way slowly to where Castiel stood, frozen. 

Dean had aged well. It had only been three years, so they weren’t exactly middle aged, but Dean’s face had angled out well, even moreso than before. He wore a thick layer of stubble across his jaw and his lips were plush and set into a grieving line. His body moved differently than it had when they were young. At twenty, Dean had been all cockiness and swagger, the life of a drag racer making him aggressive and confident in his everyday life. Now he was still that but…bigger. He was still a good two inches taller than Castiel and it was obvious by the way he held himself, and the grace with which he walked, that physical activity was a big part of his life now. His muscles bulged beneath the fabric of his clothes like Castiel had never seen, his biceps, his thighs, and his chest all toned in a way that had Castiel very guiltily wanting to see more. 

When Dean finally reached him, he gave Castiel a small once over before offering up a sad smile. “Hey Cas,” he greeted quietly, a hint of fondness detected in his voice. 

Castiel felt one corner of his mouth quirk up slightly. “Hello Dean.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically Deans POV of the last chapter. (AKA why he was late)

It was his own fault, that much he knew. 

When Sam had called him and told him, when he said the words _Mom’s gone,_ Dean panicked. Sam was crying over the phone and trying to talk to Dean about their father and the funeral planning, but Dean he just…he couldn’t do it. So he screamed, what he said he still doesn’t remember, but he just yelled and hung up, throwing his phone against the wall immediately and sinking down onto the bed in his trailer. When he didn’t arrive after the five minute warning call an hour later, Ezekiel had come in to check on him. He found him in the same spot, with his hands in his hair and eyes puffy and red-rimmed. Zeke was on him in a second, hands cupping his jaw and eyes full of concern. 

“Dean,” he asked, worry evident in his voice. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean just tried to shake out of Zeke’s grip, sending fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t,” he wheezed. “Ze-Zeke, I can’t-“

Zeke’s hands left his face and wrapped around Dean’s waist, pulling him toward his body in a bone-crushing hug. “What’s wrong?” he whispered into Dean’s temple, pressing soft kisses at the skin there. 

Dean’s body was wracked with sobs so strong that he couldn’t speak. Ezekiel just held him through the worst of it, stroking his spine and letting Dean cry it out. 

Finally, Dean’s sobs quieted and he burrowed his face into Zeke’s neck to speak. “My mother,” he croaked, voice hoarse with grief. “She was killed in a car accident.”

Ezekiel inhaled sharply and held Dean more tightly to him. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered. “Would you like me to speak to the producer? I’m sure we can find a replacement stunt, and you can leave for home toni—“

“No!” Dean interrupted, wrenching himself away from Zeke. He twisted his fists in Zeke’s shirt and stared up at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to go home, Zeke, not yet. J-just give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready for the next scene, I promise!”

Ezekiel circled Dean’s hands with his own and gently lifted them from his shirt to hold them in his lap. “Dean, I’m sure your family is expecting you home.”

Dean just squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head violently. “Not now, Zeke. After Sammy gives me the date of the fu—the date I need to be there, I’ll go. But just let me work til then, man, please. Don’t say anything, Zeke, I’m begging you. I need to stay busy, or I’ll just—I don’t know.”

Zeke just squeezed at Dean’s hands and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Dean surged forward and pressed his forehead against Zeke’s and let out a shuddering breath. “Please, Zeke,” he whispered against his boyfriend’s lips. “Please don’t make them send me home yet. I’m not ready.”

Dean saw Zeke’s internal debate, and he saw the moment that his boyfriend succumbed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He nodded at Dean and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. “Alright, Dean. Just promise me you’re alright. I can’t let you stay if it’s going to hurt you.”

“I’ll be okay, Zeke, I promise,” Dean choked out. “ I just can’t go home yet. I gotta stay busy, man, or I’m gonna fall apart. Please.”

His boyfriend nodded once more, and Dean yanked him into a too-hard hug while he caught his breath and prepared to go back on set. 

Three days later, while Dean was sitting dejectedly in the airport, his promise to Ezekiel that he’d “be okay” was just one more thing for Dean to feel guilty about. When Sam had tried and failed at getting ahold of Dean by calling, he instead texted Dean the date of their mother’s funeral, and asked him to come home quick because their father was not handling it well and Bobby and Ellen could only help so much. What John needed was both of his sons with him, but Dean still couldn’t make himself go. The second he was stateside, the moment he stepped foot in Kansas, it would all become real. It was messed up, selfish, and cruel, but as long as Dean was as far away as he could be, he could pretend this was all a bad dream. So he worked. He ran his body into the ground, because when he was sore and hurt from a big day’s events, he fell asleep fast and the pain didn’t have time to catch him. 

He had planned to fly out the morning of the day before the funeral and arrive at his childhood home just in time to fall mournfully exhausted into bed. In a wholly unexpected turn of events, rain and sleet began pouring from the sky on the morning of his flight, two hours before he was preparing to board. London June’s were relatively mild, he thought, with nothing more than a moderate rainstorm now and then, so the outbreak of ferocious weather took the entire population by surprise. He had hoped that the elements rocketing from the sky would slow, but upon his arrival at the airport he found that all outgoing flights had been cancelled due to the previously unforeseen conditions. And so he sat in the airport as the floor cleared itself of all hopeful passengers and he waited, unable to give up hope that the weather would somehow right itself. He’d spent the last handful of days desperate to stay as far away from reality as possible, but now, now that the universe was keeping from his father and his brother, all he could think about was getting home as soon as possible so he could say goodbye to his mother. The guilt of staying behind, of avoiding his responsibilities from the get-go, it ate him alive as he sat in the near-empty airport. He was going to miss his own mother’s funeral. 

It was that thought that brought his tears out once again. Since the first day he found out, when Zeke had found him drowning in grief in his trailer, he hadn’t cried again. He worked his body to the bone to stay distracted, but now that he was here and he was sure he’d never make it home on time, everything came crashing down around him. His mother was gone. The biggest, toughest stronghold in his life, the woman who had supported him through everything; his coming out, when he got caught with whiskey at junior prom, his separation from his first love, she was gone. She was a beacon of light, one so bright that even death would fail to dull the glow of her memory. It was Dean, however, who would be submerged into darkness for the rest of his life if he didn’t make it home to say goodbye, and that thought released the floodgates. He cried quietly in his seat, and for the first time in a very long time, he prayed.

He must have fallen asleep in the terminal, because an announcement over the speaker system jolted him awake from where his head was lain atop his luggage. The voice filtered through the still nearly empty airport, alerting the few people inside that flights were resuming and a new schedule had been posted. So he grabbed his things and sprinted to the nearest ticket clerk. It was nearing midnight and the soonest flight back to the states that was anywhere _near_ Kansas wasn’t for another hour. He booked his flight easily, as he was among the first people to book now that the planes were back up and running, and he bounced nervously as he waited to board. He was cutting it close, maybe too close, but he wasn’t going to give up. Not now. 

His usual aid on flights was a fair few shots of whiskey or something equally as strong, because while his job called for plenty of flights, he still wasn’t comfortable riding in the flying death traps. He almost always knocked back shots in the first twenty minutes and was out like a light for the rest of the flight, but this time he was too wired with concern to sleep. He refused all alcohol from the stewardesses, instead choosing to sit silently and hope that when the flight finally landed in Kansas City, he wouldn’t be too late. It was an excruciating eight hours, and he was sure he looked like hell when he jumped off that plane and sprinted through the Kansas City airport to the car rental. Thankfully, the clerks sensed his desperation and flew through the paperwork, having him speeding toward Topeka in a rented black Chevy Cruze. He made the drive to his childhood town in a record forty-two minutes, breaking more than a few traffic laws along the way, and headed straight for the cemetery in a desperate dash toward the end of his journey. 

When he pulled into the cemetery, the change from concrete to gravel made a loud grumbling sound emit from beneath the cars wheels. He sped much too fast down the narrow path until the cars from the funeral procession came into view. There were small groups of people making their ways away from the burial site, so Dean swerved around them and parked the borrow vehicle messily along the side of the path, not even bothering to shut the door behind him as he pounced his way out of the car. He ran up the hill toward the burial, where he saw Sam and his father standing, relief evident in their features as they took in Dean’s arrival with wide eyes. 

When he looked past his family, he saw the workers from the funeral procession lowering the casket into the ground and he stumbled. 

“Wait!” He yelled. “Stop!”

The workers looked up and halted their movements when they saw him sprinting toward them. He caught up to Sam and his father in seconds, and was sandwiched between the two man as they squeezed their arms tight around one another. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispered near his father’s ear, though he knew Sam could hear as well. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, I just couldn’t-“

“I know, kid,” John responded, voice raspy. “I know.”

“You’re here now, Dean,” Sam added. “That’s all that matters.”

Dean extracted himself, wiping his eyes discreetly on the corner of his sleeve and pointed toward the spot where his mother lay. “I, uh, I should—“

Sam and his father both nodded as he turned away, walking slowly to the ivory casket covered in rainbows of flowers. The assortment was appropriate, bright and colorful like his mother had been his entire life. When his feet landed beside her graveside, he slid to his knees and wiped at the next few tears to stray from his eyelids. 

“Hey, Ma,” he whispered. “I am so sorry I haven’t been here. There’s no excuse for me not coming as soon as I could, but the truth is that I couldn’t handle coming home and you not being there. I won’t ever be able to handle it. I love you, Mom, and I’m going to miss you. Fuck, I already miss you.” He lets his fingers slide across the petals of the bright boquets, lingering on the colors he knew his mother loved the most. He smiled down at the coffin as his fingers traced leaves and poked at thorns, then lowered his head and let out one final weak sob as he grasped at the flowers on top of the coffin. His fingers closed around something decidedly un-flower-like, and he raised his head to see what the hard object between his fingers was. 

When he saw what was in his hand, he felt his heartbeat stutter violently. The glass snake pendant with silver wings sat in his palm, still hooked to a beat-up suede cord that looked like it had seen better days. He stroked a thumb over it, allowing a fond smile to cross his face. 

“Cas,” he choked out. He turned around immediately, eyes searching the crowd for a fine tuft of wild, dark hair in the crowd, or a flash of the blue eyes he’s been without for years. 

When he spots Castiel, a shudder wracks his body. Their eyes connect and Dean can see Cas inhale sharply. He looks good, that man. The few years they’d been apart had been good to him, filling out his shoulders more broadly, and the cut of his suit made the obviously lithe runner’s body beneath his clothes more evident. A dusting of stubble garnished his cheeks, and it made him look older than his twenty four years. 

Dean broke eye contact with Castiel and turned back to his mother’s coffin, where he placed the necklace back down. "I don’t know why he still has this after all this time, Mom, but if Cas gave it to you it must still be pretty special to him. I’m glad he was here for you when I couldn’t be. I’ll take care of Dad and Sammy, Mom, I promise, okay? I love you.” He kissed his fingers and laid them gently upon the door of the casket, saying one last silent goodbye to his mother.  He stood, turning to make his way toward Cas, and allowing the workers to finally lay her to rest.

It was a short walk to where his former love stood, and the closer he got the more apparent it became that the years really _were_ good to Cas. Dean guiltily gave him a slight once over before locking eyes with Cas and smiling. “Hey Cas.”

Castiel’s lips quirked up slightly before responding in his crushed velvet gravel of a voice, “Hello, Dean.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note before reading: I do not know much about law/criminal justice, so everything about police business in this fic is stuff that I've tried researching myself online. So if it's wrong, I'm sorry, but this is all just fiction anyway so lets just let it slide for now.

“It’s good to see you,” Castiel said, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“It’s good to see you too, Cas,” Dean replied with a sad smile. “Thank you, you know, for being here. How are you?”

Castiel’s fingers played idly with the buttons of his jacket. Despite the increased build and maturing of his features, Castiel was just as fidgety and awkward as he’d been as a teen, and the thought made Dean glow inside with a familiar warmth created by Cas’ very presence. 

“I-I’m very good, I guess. Things are…things are good.”

Dean smiled at him. “That’s great, Cas. I, uh, I hear you’re selling your art now. I’m happy for you.”

Cas’ brow furrowed. “How-“

“Jo told me,” Dean interrupted, blushing immediately. He hadn’t exactly intended on letting Cas know that, once he found out about Jo’s continued friendship with Cas after the break-up, he’d often asked her about Cas’ wellbeing. 

Cas ducked his head and smiled. “Jo has also informed me about your success in the entertainment business. You get to race cars professionally now, I hear.”

“Every now and then, yeah,” Dean replied with a small laugh. He heard the soft sound of a cell phone ringing somewhere behind him, but ignored it to continue. “How long will you be in Topeka?”

“Oh, I was just here for…for the afternoon. I’m heading back to Wichita here soon,” Cas said with an apologetic shrug. 

Dean deflated, but he flapped his hand in front of him dismissively like it wasn’t a big deal. Before he could respond, however, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Sam’s solemn face at his side. 

“What’s up, Sammy?” he asked. 

Sam leaned in close to him. “Dad just got a call from Sheriff Mills. Kansas City P.D. just arrested the woman who hit Mom. They’re transporting her to the Shawnee County Sheriff’s Department for processing right now.”

Dean felt his blood turn cold. Just the mention of the monster that killed his mother was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Although he hadn’t been brave enough to answer the phone for the last few days, he had read the text messages full of information that his family and friends had been sending him. On the eve of his flight back home he found his mother’s obituary on the website for his hometown newspaper, as well as the two page cover story about the accident.

 Mary was a woman set in her ways, and ever since Dean was a child she had always done her grocery shopping late at night at a 24-hour chain because she claimed there were less people in the store and thus a much more enjoyable experience. On the night of her death, she’d been driving home from the grocery store when two speeding drivers sped around the corner, one t-boning her car on the driver’s side, causing injuries that soon killed her. The accident happened on the outskirts of town, where there was a shortage in business, only a few houses, a gas station, and a 7-11. Unbeknownst to the driver that hit their mother, both the gas station and the 7-11 had security cameras outdoors and the accident was caught on film at multiple angles. According to the article, the camera captured video of the second car reversing toward the accident and the driver rushing to the car door of his friend. There was steam billowing out of the obliterated hood of the car when a tall woman struggled out of the driver’s side window, because the door had been jammed. She was seen to have scrapes on her face and arms and a visible limp, but her friend loaded her into his own car and they fled the scene of the crime without even a glance into Mary’s car to see if she survived. 

Dean looked up to see Cas looking at him questioningly, and then glanced back at Sam’s apprehensive face. 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said, grabbing one of his old friend’s hand in his. Cas just glanced down at their conjoined hands and then stared at Dean with wide eyes. “I have to go, but it was good to see you.”

Cas’ face seemed to fall, but he nodded at Dean and squeezed his hand lightly. “Of course. It was good to see you too, Dean.”

Dean’s resolve broke at the slight squeeze of his hand, and he tugged Castiel forward into a hug, huffing out a fond laugh when Cas’ hands fluttered wildly before finally settling tightly around Dean in reciprocation. 

“We should see each other again,” he said quietly to Cas. “Before I go back to California next week.”

He felt Cas nod against him and give an affirmative-sounding hum. So he let go and waved at Cas, who waved back with a small smile, before turning to leave with his brother. He, Sam, and his father all separated into their own cars and met up at home to take Dean’s rental up to the police station. 

When they got to the station, Sheriff Mills was waiting for them in her office. “Well, it’s the right girl,” she announced, skipping over any greetings or small talk. 

“Good,” John said immediately. “What’s going to happen from here on out?”

Sheriff Mills tapped her fingers on the case file in front of her. “Court, sentencing, and some jail time for her.”

“Some?" John repeated angrily. “My wife is….my wife is dead because of her and she’ll get _some_ jail time?”

“She was driving recklessly,” Sheriff Mills continued. “The security footage proves that, Mr. Winchester. And she fled the scene of an accident, so she will spend some time behind bars” 

“She better,” John growled. “She should spend the rest of her life behind bars.”

“Mr. Winchester, the court syst—“

“Dead,” John interrupted. “My wife is dead and you have the trash that killed her behind bars in this building right now, and you’re not going to lock her up and throw away the key?”

“Dad,” Sam interrupted quietly. “Vehicular manslaughter is a misdemeanor in Kansas. If she hadn't fled the scene like she did, she may have never even set foot in a jail cell.”

“What’s her name?” Dean asked. 

Sheriff Mills looked at him for the first time since they sat down and then opened the file in front of her to produce a picture. It was a mugshot of a young woman with bright, fire engine red hair and a smug, careless smirk on her gaudily painted red lips. 

“Her name is Cher Markova,” Mills replied. “Now that we’ve got her, sentencing will be quick and you can put this all behind you. I am truly, truly sorry for your loss, boys, but now it’s time to let the court system handle it for you.”

John sagged down into his seat for several moments before shaking the Sheriff’s hand and barreling out of her office. With Sam and Dean hot on his heels, they headed for the door. Across the room, a door opened and an officer exited, pushing a cuffed, redheaded woman in front of him. It was her. He was leading Markova down the hall toward the back of the police station where the holding cells were located. The woman caught Dean’s eye for a moment, and as if she knew exactly who they were, she smirked at Dean and then rolled her eyes, allowing the officer at her back to lead her away. 

“Bitch,” he heard his dad rumble, just before he broke away, sprinting across the police station toward Markova and the officer. Several cops jumped in surprise at the sudden outburst, but Sam and Dean slid behind their father, grasping tightly at his arms before he could get himself into serious trouble. He struggled in their grip, but Sam was yelling at him to calm down while Dean bit his tongue and glared at the redhead who was now openly laughing at them. 

“Mr. Winchester!” Sheriff Mills shouted, running toward them. “Mr. Winchester that is enough. We will handle her.”

Sheriff Mills placed herself between the Markova and John, giving them both a look of warning. Only John deflated, taking a step back, but his eyes never left Cher Markova’s sharp, unsympathetic face. The officer holding Markova’s arm continued to drag the laughing woman away, but now that she knew undoubtedly who they were, she was resisting him so she could stop and stare. 

“It was nice to finally meet you, Mr. Winchester,” The redheaded woman said with a wide smile, before laughing loudly once more and sauntering away with the officer at her side. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was blind with rage. The blatant display of nonchalance from the trash that killed his mother sent him spiraling after her much the way John had only seconds before. Sam had grabbed him by the biceps and jerked him backward before being joined by several officers in the struggle to hold him back, all while the red-headed bitch sauntered away with a laugh and an easy swagger. It was the threat of arrest themselves that made John and Dean finally shove off and head home.

Three hours later found him sitting in his childhood bedroom, a half empty bottle of Jack in one hand and a framed picture from his fifth birthday party in the other. In the photo he was smiling wide with a kazoo hanging halfway out of his grinning mouth, and his mother was holding baby Sammy to her breast while she pressed a big, lipstick-smearing kiss to his cheek. Downstairs, John was already passed out on the couch, having hit the bottle with a hard desperation only seconds after arriving home, and Sam and Jess were off grabbing dinner for everyone even though John and Dean had both denied being hungry at all.

His phone had been chirping beside him on and off for the last two hours, but he felt no need to look at it. He didn’t want to see the sympathetic well wishes and apologies for his loss so soon after burying his mother. Honestly, the only person he could imagine talking to right now was…was Cas. He had never expected, even in his wildest dreams, that he’d see Castiel at the funeral. He had managed to convince himself over the years that since the two of them had both moved on that Castiel wouldn’t care about him at all if they ever met again. But he did. Although their interaction was brief, it was the most relaxed Dean had felt in days. But he wouldn’t answer the texts because it wouldn’t be Cas, it couldn’t be. Castiel hadn’t known Dean’s number for a very long time.

When Dean had asked him if he wanted to get together before he left for California, he couldn’t tell whether Castiel had genuinely agreed or if he had just said yes to be polite, but he was desperately hoping for the former. He was wholly unprepared for the flood of emotion that came with seeing Cas again after all these years, but perhaps it was fate. Perhaps now was the time they could finally be friends instead of awkward exes with leftover feelings that muddled up their platonic relationship. They were older now, wiser. Dean had Zeke and surely someone had come along and swept Cas off his feet, he was too gorgeous, too perfect to be alone. There would be someone to smile fondly at Cas’ polite social awkwardness, love him for the way his face lights up when he’s sketching or painting, and someone to experience the sexual blizzard that lurked beneath his seemingly stuffy exterior. And what a blizzard it was. Dean’s face heated, even as a small smile crossed his face, when he remembered the things he and Cas had done on that very bed where he sat.

Before his torturous mind could get lost in that train of thought, a small knock sounded at the door. Dean grunted his permission and it opened enough for Sam’s head to pop in.

He glanced at the bottle in Dean’s hand his mouth set in a thin line. “You alright, Dean?”

Dean nodded and set the bottle down on the ground. “I’m good, Sammy. I’m good.”

Sam stepped into the room, a bag from a local dining joint in his hand, and crossed over to the bed, sitting beside Dean and dropping the bag in his hand down to the floor. He stared down at the picture in Dean’s hand.

“Mom was beautiful,” he said quietly, a sad smile crossing his face.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Yeah, she was. I’m…shit, Sam, I’m sorry I took so long getting here, I just--“

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam interrupted, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

Dean’s shoulder flinched, but he didn’t shrug his brother off. “No, Sammy, it’s not. I should have been here. I should have come right after you called, but I…I couldn’t. It didn’t seem real.”

“I know what you mean,” Sam replied, voice heavy. “It didn’t really hit me until this morning. I mean, I cried, and I’ve been watching Dad cry all week. When I was getting my suit on this morning I couldn’t knot my tie and I remembered Mom having to do it for me for Prom, and for mine and Jess’ wedding, and I just…”

Sam’s words hovered in the air as he blinked rapidly, no doubt trying to filter out the tears that threatened to surface. After a few seconds Sam just bent down to retrieve the bottle Dean had abandoned on the floor and he took a swig, choking up slightly after swallowing, making Dean snort.

“Still not really a drinker, huh Sammy?”

Sam shook his head and cleared his throat. “Not really, no.”

Dean held his hand out for the bottle, but Sam just set it on the floor and shoved it further away with his foot. He grabbed the bag of food instead, producing a large, foil covered burger and setting it in Dean’s open hand instead.

“I’m not going to say anything if you want to drink,” Sam started. “I get it, I do. I’ll probably have a little something myself tonight, honestly, but eat first. Please.”

Dean looked at the burger in his hand and pursed his lips. He wasn’t hungry, not in the slightest. The burgers were from his favorite diner, a place he hadn’t been in years because he had refused to come back home. They smelled delicious, but nothing sounded more appetizing than getting blackout drunk and sleeping for the next twelve hours so the day they buried their mother could finally be over.

“Dean,” Sam urged, his eyebrows pleading. “I can deal with Dad like this, but not you too. I can’t do it alone, Dean, I can’t.”

Dean felt his shoulders slump at the thick sadness in Sam’s voice. He exhaled loudly and unwrapped the foil on the burger. Sam smiled at him, a genuine, happy thing, and got up to leave with the rest of the food in hand.

One bite into the burger had Dean groaning in relief. It was so delicious, and familiar, but it didn’t churn his stomach like he had thought it would. Sam was right, eating would make him feel better, and then they could take care of their father together. That’s what their mother would want.

“Hey, Sammy,” he called, just before his brother exited the room.

Sam turned around, looking at him curiously.

Dean just stretched out his hand. Sam frowned at him, confused. Dean then pointed to the bag with a serious face and then made a ‘come hither’ motion with his finger. Sam huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes before digging his hand in the bag for another burger. He tossed it to Dean, who caught it with a grin.

Instead of leaving, Sam leaned up against the doorframe. “Hey, Dean?”

Dean looked up, mouth stuffed full and eyebrows raised.

“So, uh, do you actually plan on seeing Cas while you’re here?”

Dean choked on the lump of food in his mouth and forced it painfully down his throat. He cleared his throat a few times before croaking out a “ _what?_ ”

Sam smirked at him. “You asked Castiel if you could see each other before you leave town again. Did you mean it?”

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d like to, I think. I’m not sure how I’m going to get ahold of him, but if he’s up to it I really would like to see him. Been a long time.”

Sam gave him a small smile and nodded. “I’m sure Jo can give you his number, if you want.”

Of course, Dean hadn’t thought of that.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he said with a half-smile. Sam mirrored the look and then left the room quietly, leaving Dean on his own again.

He devoured the last of his first burger and soon obliterated the second, giving himself a wonderful, full feeling. Once he tossed the foil wrappers in the trashcan, he grabbed the forgotten bottle of whiskey from the floor and screwed the cap back on.

“Not tonight,” he said to himself, placing it in his old sock drawer. “I’m sure I’ll be back for you soon, but not tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel didn’t see Dean again the week after Mary’s funeral. He didn’t expect to, of course, Dean had probably only offered to be polite. There was no way Dean was going to willingly spend time with his ex-boyfriend from college when he had Ezekiel Fairbank waiting for him in California. He was over Dean, had been for years, but he couldn’t help the disappointment that bubbled up from within when he thought too deeply about Dean with someone else.

The very same someone else that was currently running from a few heavily armed city guardsmen on his television. Charlie was curled up across from him on their plush old couch, a mug of tea in hand and her eyes glued to the screen as the show played.

“This show is stupid,” Castiel grumbled. When Charlie didn’t answer or give any hint that she’d even heard him, he rolled his eyes and went back to the sketch he was currently working on.

“This show is brilliant,” Charlie stated a few minutes later when commercials started up.

Castiel just grunted and continued working.

“You just don’t like it because Zeke Fairbank is dating Dean,” she continued. It was uncommon for Charlie, or anyone he’d known since college, to mention Dean near Castiel, but ever since the funeral his name had become a common one in conversation. It was like seeing him again had put an end to the stigma. “He plays a good Nikolai Brava though. I think you should at least give the show a chance. You might really like it.”

Castiel turned to face her with a grimace. “Charlie, it has nothing to do with Ezekiel Fairbank, I promise.” He set his sketchbook and pencil down on their coffee table and went to make himself a cup of tea, raising his voice so Charlie could hear him as he moved about the kitchen. “This show is just like every other television show about a dystopian future. Some people are good, some people are bad, and somehow the main character finds time between ensuring the survival of his people and leading a war against his enemies, to seduce and bed the female lead. It’s just the living embodiment of a romance novel; sex, love, and betrayal with a hint of plot. Come on, the show is called _Guardians_ for God’s sake. What does that even have to do with the show?”

“Yeah, but have you seen the female lead?” Charlie asked as she joined him in the kitchen. “Mona Montgomery plays Raina Tempest; the young, but strong-willed daughter of Nikolai’s biggest enemy, Sergeant Bruno Tempest.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and laughed at his best friend. “Isn’t she the one in the giant poster above your bed?”  

“Yes she is,” Charlie responded with a dreamy sigh. “Isn’t she just the hottest thing on two legs?”

“Not really my type,” Castiel replied with a small smile.

“Well, I’m glad she and Zeke can still work together after everything. If either of them had to leave the show after season one I would have been devastated.”

Castiel set his mug on the counter and turned to raise an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean after everything?”

“Ezekiel Fairbank and Mona Montgomery were like a huge celebrity power couple during their first season shooting together.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s bisexual?”

Charlie nodded and gave him a strange look. “He also has an eight year old son with some daytime TV actress that’s on some soap opera. How did you not know any of this? Did you really not even bother to look this guy up once you found out he was dating Dean?”

Castiel turned his back to Charlie once more and traced his fingers around the rim of his tea mug. “No, I didn’t want to know,” he replied quietly. “Dean and I were practically children when we dated. It would be strange of me to keep tabs on him now.”

“I still keep tabs on Alannah sometimes. I may have facebook stalked a few of the girls she’s dated since me. It isn’t totally unheard of to be curious, you know.”

“Yes, well, you and Alannah are also still friends. Dean and I are not,” he finished as he brushed past Charlie and back into the living room, tea in hand.

He felt the couch shift as Charlie joined him. “When you came back last week it seemed like Dean was pretty friendly. He did offer to see you again before he left, right?”

Castiel took a slow sip from his mug before answering. “He did, but he was just being polite. As you may have noticed, he never called.”

Charlie just gave him a sympathetic smile and a shrug before turning her attention back to the television. Only a few minutes had passed when there was a knock at the front door. Since Charlie’s show wasn’t on a commercial, Castiel set his sketchbook down once more to answer it.

When he opened the door, Balthazar was standing casually in the entry, one hand on the doorframe and the other on his hip.

“Balthazar,” Castiel greeted with a grin. “I didn’t realize you were going to be in town this week.”

Balthazar just hummed and brushed past him with ease into the apartment, heading straight toward the kitchen as if he lived there.

“Good to see you, Balthazar!” Charlie called from her seat on the couch.

“You as well, Red,” Balthazar responded.

Castiel leaned against the counter, watching as Balthazar made his own tea. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

Balthazar gave him a fleeting looking. “Well, Cassie, if a certain young artist would answer his text messages I wouldn’t have to make the drive three towns over to get his attention.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Castiel replied. “You’ve only texted me twice in the last week.”

“Aha,” Balthazar announced. “So you’ve been receiving my messages but avoiding me,” he concluded, reaching out to brush a few stray flecks of dust off Castiel’s shirt. “Fat lot of good that does when I’ve got your address, hmm?”

In that moment Charlie came in to stash her empty mug in the sink. “It’s not just you,” she said to Balthazar. “Cas has been avoiding pretty much everyone since he saw Dean.”

“Charlie,” Castiel hissed. “That isn’t true. I’m just not feeling particularly social.”

Balthazar just shook his head and grabbed Castiel by the shoulders. “Come out with me tonight, you and Red both. I’m in town, might as well have a good time at the only bar in Wichita worth going to.”

“Ugh, you mean Players, don’t you?” Castiel groaned

Charlie just raised her eyebrows in confusion “What’s Players?”

“Just imagine a snotty, high class bar where investment bankers go after work, but then add a few big screen televisions and football,” Castiel said, his face scrunched in disdain.

“So,” Charlie started. “It’s a sports bar where you pay thirty bucks for a rum and coke?”

“Basically, yes,” Balthazar answered. He then casually waved his wallet at Charlie. “But money isn’t an issue here, darling. Plus, some of the absolute hottest men in Kansas frequent there.”

“Oh wonderful,” Charlie said with a roll of her eyes. “Sounds like my kind of bar.”

“I’m sure there are some female investment bankers,” Castiel replied with a laugh.

“Well, if Balthazar’s paying, I’m in.  Let me grab a quick shower and put on my Sunday best,” Charlie said with a sarcastic flourish.

The three of them headed upstairs, Charlie branching off into her own room and Balthazar following Castiel into his.

He immediately went for Castiel’s closet, flicking through all of his clothing, tossing the items he liked onto the bed and completely dismissing others.

“I can dress myself, you know,” Castiel complained after Balthazar made a fake vomiting sound at Castiel’s favorite dress shirt.

“Yes,” Balthazar replied. “But I can dress you better, Cassie.” And with that, Balthazar crossed the room, a deep blue shirt in hand, and held it up to Castiel’s chest with a scrutinizing look.

“Balthazar…”

“It’s perfect,” Balthazar decided, he tossed the shirt on the bed and ran his hands over Castiel’s shoulders. “It’ll bring out your eyes and it’s going to be just tight enough to show off the broadness in your shoulders and your brilliant collarbones.”

“Will you two just bang and get it over with please,” they heard Charlie call from her room.

“We can’t really do that, Charlie,” Castiel called to her, knowing full well that she was aware of his problem.

“And,” Balthazar added “I’ve been trying to get around that issue for months now, dear, but Cassie won’t even let me suck him o—“

Castiel slapped a hand over Balthazar’s mouth just as Charlie shouted out that she really did not need to know that little bit of information. Balthazar just laughed and returned to the closet, muttering about finding pants that hugged Castiel’s ass just right.

In just under an hour, they’d all gotten themselves ready to go and piled into Balthazar’s Mercedes. It was a long drive all the way across the city, and they arrived just after nine, when the place was at its busiest. It was crowded, but with a flash of his wallet and a smile, Balthazar managed to get them a booth to themselves toward the back where they could survey the entire bar. There were no big games that night and it was late enough that all of the large flatscreens in the bar were put on mute, replaced by booming music and the opening of the dance floor. The bar was just large enough that it bordered on being a dance club, the occupancy rate so high that there were bars serving alcohol on both ends of the building. One bar surrounded by the many flatscreens, which was always jam packed on game days, and the other that was closest to the dancefloor, where their booth was located. There were girls in short black dresses with trays of tube shots making rounds to all of the back booths and when a perky young blonde came to the table, Balthazar bought them each two, the waitress included. Charlie stared after the girl when she left, causing Castiel to laugh.

“What?” Charlie asked defensively.

“Nothing,” he responded. “You just have a type is all.”

“I do not,” she argued.

Castiel pointed at the waitress. “She looks _just_ like Alannah.”

Charlie just waved him off and downed her second shot. “I came here to meet a rich ad exec or something,” she declared. “A beautiful older woman who would take care of me for the rest of my life, putting me out of the misery of IT work. A sugar momma, if you will. But I wouldn’t mind a fling with the hot young waitress.” She joked.

From there it was all liquor and dancing, Castiel and Charlie having a love for it ever since they’d danced together the night they met. Neither one were outstandingly graceful, but the movement and the adrenaline of shaking your body to a good song put them both in such a peaceful state of mind that they didn’t care how they looked. Balthazar came and went, switching between dancing with them and visiting with people he recognized across the bar. The liquor was flowing, on Balthazar’s dime, and he was generous with his money so it wasn’t long before all three of them were on their way to a lovely drunken state. Soon, Charlie caught the attention of a woman on the dancefloor and left Castiel with an eager smile. He shot her a thumbs up as he walked back to the table, parking himself next to Balthazar, who was draining his last rum and coke.

“Fancy getting me some water, Cassie?” he asked with a slight slur, waving his empty tumbler at Castiel. They would definitely be taking a cab home tonight. He grabbed a wad of cash out of his pocket with the other hand and tucked it into Castiel’s front pocket. “Buy yourself another drink while you’re up there as well, darling”

He picked the glass out of Balthazar’s fingers, and made his way over to the bar, which was full of patrons all vying for the attention of the overworked bartenders. Instead of waiting in the enormous crowd for the drinks, Castiel made his way over to the other side of the bar, which was less wild but still very crowded. All of the barstools were full of people taking swigs from their craft beers and watching muted games on the flatscreen. Several people were waiting to put in their order with the bartender, but the line was much shorter than the bar by the dancefloor. So he rested his elbow on the bar next to the only empty stool and eyed the bottles of liquor stacked on the shelf, trying to decide what his next drink would be. He didn’t want to leave the bar sick, so it couldn’t be strong.

When the bartender made her way toward him, she stopped first at the man on the other side of the empty stool. He could only see the back of the man’s head as he spoke to the girl behind the bar, but his voice sounded eerily familiar. After finishing his order, the man turned around to face the floor and look out among the other patrons, and Castiel found himself face to face with the worst person he could meet at a bar in Kansas; Ezekiel Fairbank.

Clearly he had been staring, because after a moment the man in front of him raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. Castiel blinked several times and felt himself flush at being caught.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…uh…I recognize you from th-the show. I apologize.”

Ezekiel just smiled at him, and Castiel had to begrudgingly admit that it was a very handsome smile.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, holding his hand out to Castiel. “Comes with the gig, I suppose. It’s good to meet you. Ezekiel Fairbank, and you are?”

Castiel took his hand and shook once before letting go. “Castiel, and it’s nice to meet you as well. I don’t actually watch the show myself, not because I’m against it in any way,” he said, flinching at how rude he must be coming off. “But my roommate is a big fan so I catch glimpses a lot. It, uh, it seems to be doing quite well in ratings, I understand.”

Ezekiel nodded and said something that sounded rather agreeable, but Castiel didn’t quite hear it because he’d just realized that, while running into the very man he’d been discussing in his kitchen only hours ago was strange, that probably meant he was in Kansas because of—

“Cas?” A startled voice questioned, nearly making him jump.

Castiel looked up, locking eyes with Dean Winchester, who stood just behind Ezekiel in an expensive maroon suit that would have looked ridiculous on anyone but Dean; it just accentuated the bright, jade green of his eyes. He wore a deep raisin colored shirt beneath his jacket and it stretched tight across his chest.

“Dean,” he greeted with a nod. “It’s good to see you…again.”

Dean smiled and gave an awkward sort of wave, but before he could respond, Ezekiel brushed a hand down Dean’s side (a gesture that sent a very uncalled for sizzle of jealousy down Castiel’s spine) and chimed in.  

“So you two know each other? I’ve just been introduced to Castiel while you were gone, love.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a glance toward his boyfriend. “Cas is, uh, Cas is an old friend from college.”

The introduction broke him. A friend. Just an old friend was all he was. But Castiel could understand not wanting to bring up past lovers in the face of a new one so he let the hurt roll off of him.

A light of understanding seemed to brighten in Ezekiel’s eyes, though, when he repeated the nickname.

“Cas? Well, any old friend of Dean’s will be a friend of mine, I hope…” he responded with another friendly smile. The man was nothing if not charming, and try as he might, Castiel couldn’t help but like him.

At that moment, the bartender came back and looked at Castiel expectantly. He decided, as Dean slowly took his stool again, that he’d have a strong drink after all.

“Can I get a bottle of water and two shots of Patron, please,” he asked the girl, who nodded and shot off to get his order.

After a moment of awkward silence, Dean finally spoke again.

“I’m sorry I never called,” he said hesitantly. “It was a rough few days.”

Castiel smiled at him. “I understand, Dean, it’s okay. I thought you’d be back to filming by now.”

Dean shrugged. “We had a little time off—“

“Our producers are wonderful,” Ezekiel interrupted. “Under the circumstances they’ve let us stall shooting for a few weeks. We’re ahead of schedule as it is, and I don’t quite think Dean was ready to go back to shooting just yet.” He ended the statement by bringing his hand up to stroke fondly at the back of Dean’s neck

“Zeke,” Dean whispered uncomfortably, a flush starting to rise from their point of contact.

Thankfully the bartender returned at that moment with Castiel’s drinks. “That’ll be 26.50, sweetie.”

Before Castiel could dig Balthazar’s money out of his pocket, Ezekiel swiped his own credit card from his pocket and handed it to the bartender.

“Please, darling, on me.”

“Oh,” Castiel started, casting an awkward glance at Dean, who still wore Ezekiel’s other hand like a brand on the back of his reddened neck. “I couldn’t let you—“

“It’s no trouble,” Ezekiel said with a smile, handing his card over to the young woman.

“Thank you,” Castiel responded. Then he turned back to Dean. “So, you’re staying in Kansas for a while, then?”

Dean smiled up at him and nodded. “About two weeks, yeah. Maybe this time we can actually see each other.”

Castiel found himself smiling at the prospect, only to have the smile drop off his face when Ezekiel’s thumb started rubbing small circles into the side of Dean’s neck. “Yes, maybe.”

Dean’s face flushed further while his boyfriend’s fingers fluttered across his skin, and he brought his own hand up in what looked like a motion to brush the man’s hand away, but their fingers ended up tangling together on the back of Dean’s neck and suddenly Castiel’s throat was dry as a bone. So he downed the shots placed in front of him and grabbed the bottle of water, meaning to say his goodbyes. Before he could, however, an arm draped over his shoulder and there was an invasion of his space as Balthazar planted a more-than-friendly kiss on the corner of his mouth. The older man nuzzled into Castiel’s temple for a moment before speaking.

“I was getting lonely without you, Cassie,” he said, giving Castiel a private look that meant for him to play along. Balthazar was playing Castiel’s date to diffuse the awkwardness, and the relief he felt was instantaneous.

Dean looked at Balthazar in confusion, his eyes boring into the spot where his arm was planted over Castiel’s shoulders.

“Who is this, then?” Ezekiel asked.

Balthazar just held a hand out to the man. “Balthazar Augustin IV, my boy, pleased to meet you. And the two of you are?”

Ezekiel shook his hand, friendly smile still in place. “Ezekiel Fairbank, and this is my boyfriend, Dean. It seems these two already know each other.”

“Dean,” Balthazar repeated. “Yes, Castiel’s old college beau,” he said and held a hand out to Dean, who took it with a strained smile. “Well,” Balthazar continued “Thanks for letting this one go or I may have never found my muse.”

As the words left his mouth, Balthazar started combing lovingly through Castiel’s hair, and he felt warm under the scrutinizing looks he was getting from Dean, who tried chuckling casually but just ended up clearing his throat instead.

“Speaking of,” the older man continued, whispering into Castiel’s intimately, but loudly enough that the others could hear. “We should be getting home, Cassie. I’d like to finish that painting I started last night.”

Castiel flushed at the implications of the lie. “I suppose we should,” he replied. He looked up at the others, seeing that Ezekiel was taking a swig of his drink while Dean looked resolutely at the bartop.

“I guess this is goodbye then, fellows,” Balthazar announced, looping his arm through Castiel’s and tugging him toward the other side of the room where they’d find Charlie and escape.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” Ezekiel stated politely while Dean just gave him a strange smile.

“You too,” Castiel responded, looking not at Ezekiel but at his ex. “Goodbye, Dean.”

When Dean still didn’t respond, he let himself be tugged away by Balthazar. It only took a few minutes to pry Charlie away from her new friend. Once they mentioned Dean, she made it her mission to collect their things and leave as soon as possible, assuring Castiel that he could tell her all about it in the car. She did, however, try to crane her neck far enough to get a glimpse of the two men at the other bar, although when she looked, she said that Dean’s seat was empty and Ezekiel was left alone at the bar once again.

Castiel didn’t linger on why that was, instead heading for the exit. Castiel and Charlie leaned against the outside of the bar while Balthazar went ahead to try and hail a cab on the busy street.

“What a way to end the night, huh?” Charlie said, letting the words linger in the air.

Castiel just huffed, unable to answer because in the next moment someone was calling his name. He looked up and Dean was making his way out of the club and straight toward him.

“Dean,” he said quietly when the man stood right in front of him.

Dean just exhaled roughly and stared at him for a moment. “I, uh, can I….can I get your phone number?” Castiel’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but Dean kept on rambling. “To, you know, hang out before I leave the state. I’d like to see you again, for real this time. If that’s okay, I mean. I don’t know if your…if your b-boyfriend would be upset about it…”

“No,” Castiel started to protest. “Don’t worry, Balthazar isn’t—“

“I’m glad you found somebody,” Dean interrupted and Castiel froze. “I really am. You deserve it, Cas. You’re so great, I mean, you deserve someone that’s going to let you be the subject of the paintings for once.”

Castiel felt his cheeks go red and he was vaguely aware of Charlie slowly backing away from them to go stand by Balthazar. He silently thanked her for giving them room because the pinkness on his cheeks was embarrassing enough with Dean here to witness it.

“Of course you can have my number,” he finally replied, albeit very quietly.

Dean grinned and whipped out his iPhone, which Castiel laughed at.

“You have an iPhone,” he said, unable to hold back his grin, remembering how much Dean had teased him for his own.

Dean just glared at him halfheartedly before a grin split across his face. “Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel just grinned back and spouted off his number as Dean’s finger flew over the keys to enter it into his phone.

“I’ll call you,” Dean said, bringing his arms up as if he were about to hug Castiel, but a whistle from Balthazar startled him, making him cross his arms immediately.

Castiel looked at Balthazar; he was standing next to Charlie and they were both summoning him with their hands.

“We’ve found a taxi, my love,” Balthazar called. “Come along.”

With that, Dean clapped him on the shoulder once and started to walk back toward the club with a muttered goodbye.

“Tomorrow,” Castiel called out, causing Dean to turn to him once more.

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated. “Call me tomorrow, Dean.”

Dean smiled at him and waved. “Yeah,” he replied. “Tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may notice in this chapter (and chapters to come), I am taking some huge liberties with Ezekiel's personality and not basing it on an actual character since Ezekiel was revealed to be Gadreel in the show.

_“You deserve someone that’s going to let you be the subject of the paintings for once.”_

God, how pathetic was he?

Dean was perched anxiously on the couch in the sitting area of his hotel room, freshly showered and dressed, with Castiel’s number looming on the screen of his iPhone. Castiel’s phone number had been in Dean’s phone since the night of his mother’s funeral, after Sam had suggested getting it from Jo. Last night at the bar, however, the appearance of Castiel’s new boyfriend had Dean so frazzled that he managed to botch up and completely ignore Castiel’s goodbye as he was led toward the exits. So Dean did the only thing he could think of doing; he excused himself, telling Zeke that he’d forgotten something, and ran after Castiel under the ruse of obtaining the phone number he already had.

And then, jesus…then he had to go off on a rambling spree and spill out to Cas how great he thought he was, how lucky his boyfriend was to have him, and Dean flushed remembering how Cas’ face had changed when he said so. But then Cas had gone and mocked Dean’s iPhone, making him grin stupidly and feel like once again everything was right with the world.

As Dean sat there, staring at his phone and willing himself to stop being such a chicken, the door to the hotel room opened and Zeke walked in with a bag from the bakery around the corner and a large cup from Starbucks. The two of them had, for lack of better things to do, stayed at the bar until closing and ended up taking a taxi back to the hotel. Zeke had been out retrieving both the car and breakfast. Dean temporarily tossed his phone to the couch and moved to greet his boyfriend with a small kiss on the cheek. Zeke responded with a light peck to his lips and handed the cup over to Dean. The sugary-sweet smell of caramel was wafting up from the cup and curling thickly through Dean’s nostrils. 

“That’s for you, love,” he said cheerily. “And I brought some onion bagels from the shop nearby, the ones we liked from yesterday morning.”

Dean looked at the bag on the table and grimaced behind his boyfriend’s back. He hated onion bagels, preferring the light sweetness of cinnamon raisin ones instead, but this miscommunication was a common occurrence over the past few months. Ezekiel was a wonderful man, and a loving, caring boyfriend. Hell, he flew out to be with Dean the day after the funeral just because he'd missed him. But he could not for the life of him remember Dean’s preferences in food. Every time Dean had called him out on it, jokingly of course, Zeke would apologize profusely and then Dean only felt guilty for bringing it up. So he had stopped correcting Zeke’s mistakes after the first few weeks and just lived with coffee that was too sweet and bagels that weren’t sweet enough. It was a small price to pay for such a good man.

Dean grabbed the bag, intending to take a few conciliatory bites of a bagel before throwing it out and claiming not to be hungry. As Dean was unwrapping the food, Zeke wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist from behind and started peppering the side of his neck with kisses. Dean felt affection and warmth immediately flooding through him, tilting his head and leaning into the warm lips at his skin. While Zeke kissed his way across the back of Dean’s neck, his thoughts were once again drawn to last night. Never once had Dean felt uncomfortable under Ezekiel’s attention, until he’d been rubbing his hands absentmindedly across Dean’s skin in front of Castiel. Normally Dean loved having Zeke’s hands on him, he loved the soft, gentleness of his touch, but last night his hands were like a brand, hot on the back of Dean’s neck, searing him further with each stroke across his skin. He’d even tried to brush Ezekiel’s hand away, embarrassed, but his boyfriend had only mistook it for an affectionate rub and tangled their fingers together. And it hadn’t helped that he could feel Castiel’s eyes lingering on their linked fingers, making him blush brightly under the heavy lights of the bar.

He was flushed now, remembering it, and from the way his boyfriend’s lips were trailing across his shoulders.

With one last smack of lips right behind Dean’s ear, Zeke stopped and spoke. “I’m going to go and have a shower. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

Dean turned in his boyfriend’s and pressed their foreheads together. “I showered while you were gone,” he responded, feeling the pit of regret in his stomach deepen every time he denied Zeke’s propositions. The touches felt good, light and loving, and he had missed them greatly. They hadn’t been intimate since the day Dean found out about his mother’s death, and Ezekiel was not pushing him in the slightest. He made sure that Dean knew he was wanted and welcome, but he didn’t pressure him.

And same as always, Zeke took it in stride, unoffended by Dean’s current lack of interest in intimacy. He just smiled at Dean and stroked his thumbs over his cheekbones before closing the distance between them with a soft kiss on the lips.

“In that case,” he said, disentangling himself from Dean. “I’ll be out soon.”

Zeke made to walk toward the bathroom, but Dean grabbed at his hand last minute and pulled him, laughing, back into his arms. He kissed Zeke, harder this time, more insistent, and tried to pour all of his apologies into the kiss. Apologies for being so distracted, for being so uninterested in the touch, even apologies for the things Zeke didn’t know about, like his frustrations and hang-ups about Castiel. Ezekiel seemed to sense Dean’s desperation and responded eagerly, kissing him hard in a way that he hadn’t in weeks. The room was quiet but for the loud smack of their lips and the sound of hands roaming on fabric where Ezekiel was gripping Dean’s backside and Dean dug his fingers into the material of Zeke’s shirt.

When their lips finally parted, both were panting, smiling, and still gripping one another. “Whenever you’re ready, Dean,” He whispered before giving him one more slow, sweet kiss.

Dean smiled and flushed, finally releasing his grip on Zeke’s shirt and letting him retreat to the shower with a mildly noticeable boner-walk. He sympathized, of course, because he too had a situation chubbing up in his pants from the brief makeout session that had just occurred.  

The half-boner wilted, though, when he looked over to the couch and saw his phone lying on the cushion. Right, he had been in the middle of _maybe_ calling Cas. At least, if he ever got the nerve to push the Call button.

And last night, Cas had looked so eager when he insisted that Dean call him _tomorrow_. That was really the deciding factor for him here. At the funeral, an invite to see one another hung in the air as a weakly laid plan for mourning people, but last night was a promise and Dean didn’t intend to disappoint. After he heard the water from the shower starting in the bathroom, he crossed the room to his phone and pressed the call button before he could lose his nerve.

Castiel picked up after only two rings with a gruff “hello”.

“H-hey, Cas,” he stuttered, all bravado leaving him. “It’s Dean.”

“Dean,” Cas repeated, sounding pleased. “You called.”

“Yeah,” Dean said with a chuckle. “I figured I should actually do it this time around.”

Cas laughed softly over the phone. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too,” he responded, unable to suppress the grin spreading across his face. “So, uh, I’m here a couple more weeks. Maybe we could grab lunch or something one of these days?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed immediately. “I have a commission meeting at noon on Thursday, but it should only take about an hour or two. Perhaps we could meet around three?”

Dean sorted through his sparse schedule in his mind to be sure, but could think of no other plans he’d made for that day. “Thursday is great, Cas. Where should I meet you?”

He heard Cas clicking his tongue over the phone as he thought. “Are you staying in Topeka with your family?”

“Nah, I’ve got a hotel in Augusta. It’s not that far from Wichita.”

“Not far at all,” Castiel repeated, sounding surprised. “There’s a place close by my house called Katze Café, it’s a German place and the food is absolutely wonderful. Does that sound acceptable?”

“German food, huh?” He asked with a slight laugh.

“W-well, we don’t have to,” Cas started. “If you don’t like German food we could always pick another pl—“

“No,” Dean interrupted. “It’s not that, not at all. I’m afraid my pallet just hasn’t been broadened much, despite the traveling. Can’t say I’ve ever had real German food before.”

“It’s great,” Cas breathed, almost reverently, causing Dean to laugh. “The cuisine is just so hearty, I have a feeling you’ll really love it.”

“Well, you’ve never steered me wrong with food before,” Dean said with a laugh. The chuckle was cut short, though, when his brain decided to supply memories of nineteen year old Cas sitting on the quad at KU, sucking the sugary sweet juice from fruit off of his fingers. They had practically just met back then, but the memory was still as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. “So, uh,” he cleared his throat and tried to shake the memory from his head. “Thursday at three, then, sounds good.”

“Okay,” Cas replied, a smile in his voice. “Then I will see you Thursday. Goodbye, Dean.”

“See ya, Cas.”

He waited for the dismissive click on the other line before locking his phone and throwing it down to the couch and sprawling down himself. It was unhealthy, and undoubtedly wrong, how easy it was for him to get flustered around Castiel. How fucked up was he that his mind was so quick to bring up raunchy old memories of his college sweetheart when he had a downright _hot_ boyfriend naked, and probably jerking off, in the shower? He and Cas were a thing of the past. They were done, over, and old enough to be friends like normal human beings without any pesky residual feelings.

Determined, he unbuttoned his overshirt and dropped it on the couch before making his way to the bathroom. He opened the door quietly and was greeted with heavy steam and the loud patter of heavy water pressure, but also the faintest sounds of a hand slicking over skin and quiet moans slipping out of pressed lips. Silently, he divested himself of the rest of his clothes. When he rustled the shower curtain to step inside, he heard Zeke gasp and watched his hand fly away from where it was working furiously at his cock.

“Dean? I thought—“

Dean interrupted him by pressing himself along the length of Ezekiel’s back and rutting up against his ass. Zeke inhaled sharply and pressed himself back against Dean.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered into his before nibbling lightly on his earlobe.

Zeke grabbed Dean’s hands where they rested on his waist and drew them around himself with their fingers interlaced, tilting his head to give Dean more access to his neck.

“Don’t be sorry,” he responded quietly as Dean nosed his way across the tendons of his neck. “Nothing to be sorry about, Dean.”

Dean laid kisses all along the side of Ezekiel’s neck and jaw until his boyfriend got greedy, turning his head to capture Dean’s mouth with his own. Their tongues tangled, the angle making their kiss sloppy and uncoordinated, but it had Dean hard and wanting nonetheless. As they bit and sucked at each other’s lips, Dean untangled his hands and dragged them low on Zeke’s stomach, reveling in the sexy softness of his fully hairless skin. He was the first man that Dean had been with who insisted on being completely smooth in his nether regions. Most of them trimmed, or left a treasure trail at least, but not Zeke; it was nothing but miles of smoothly waxed skin from neck to thigh. Dean couldn’t say he minded as he let his hands wander lower and lower until one of them lightly cupped Zeke’s balls, drawn up tight toward his body, and the other slid languidly up and down his cock, which was warm and heavy in Dean’s palm. Zeke was also the only man Dean had been with who was also uncircumcised, and he was particularly sensitive because of it, so Dean let his fingers wander on the upstroke and trace softly around the extra skin, making Zeke’s hips stutter. His cock was lovely, really. It was the shortest of all four men he’d been with, but the thickness was nothing to scoff at. Dean marveled at the stretch and burn every time Zeke fucked him, but his boyfriend had a preference for bottoming.

Without the proper supplies in the shower, like condoms and lube, Dean knew he wasn’t going to be fucking Ezekiel, but that spark had been lit inside him again and he wanted to come. So he continued to rut against him, his own hard length slicking up and down the crack of his boyfriend’s ass as the water from the showerhead eased the way. Ezekiel was mewling quietly as Dean’s hand sped up on his cock, his other hand rolling his balls gently while they tightened with impending release. As he tumbled closer and closer to orgasm, Zeke started to fidget. He leant forward to brace his elbows on the shower wall and started grinding his ass backward into Dean. When his orgasm hit, Zeke went completely still before being wracked with a powerful shudder as he shot ropes of cum at the shower wall and over Dean’s fingers.  When he whined with oversensitivity, Dean moved his hands from Zeke’s groin to his hips and held him in place while he continued to thrust up against him. Filthy moans and muttered encouragement continued to spill from Zeke’s mouth, and it was a combination of his muttered _“come for me, baby”_ and the flex of his ass over Dean’s cockhead that finally had Dean shooting his release over the plump globes of flesh.

Dean immediately crumpled forward, giving a wet kiss to the back of Zeke’s neck before resting his forehead there and relaxing beneath the spray while they caught their breath. After a few moments of heavy breathing, mingled with the odd quiet giggle, they straightened up and continued the shower. They took turns washing each other, erasing the traces of sex from their skin, and exchanging enthusiastic kisses.

“What are our plans for the day?” Zeke asked him as they walked, towel-clad, into the bedroom area of the hotel.

“None that I know of,” Dean responded, unwrapping the towel from his waist and throwing it toward the growing pile of dirty laundry in the corner of the room. He stretched unselfconsciously, giving a pleased groan at the delicious roll and release of his muscles. When he turned, he saw that his boyfriend’s eyes were glued to his ass and he gave a cheeky little wiggle just to watch Zeke lick his lips.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind,” Zeke started as he crossed the room to him. “Spending the day in bed with me?”

Dean turned to meet him, tugging the towel away from his boyfriend’s hips. “I think,” he said, as he gently pushed Zeke in the direction of the bed. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh

On the day he was to meet Dean, Castiel woke with deep glow radiating from within him. He and Dean may have been practically children when they dated, but they were adults now. He’d only let himself think of Dean a spare few times over the years, but now he couldn’t help but feel like he had the chance to get his best friend back. Still, though, nerves flared up in him when he thought about spending time with Dean alone, but he pushed the jitters to the back of his mind. His commission meeting went well; it was with an old colleague of Balthazar’s who wanted a portrait of his mother done for her eightieth birthday. He knew his client already from a previous commission he’d done the year before for the man’s beach house in Florida.  Balthazar wasn’t fond of model portraits, so he usually sent clients with such requests to Castiel. He didn’t imagine after graduation that he’d make much money from commissions, but as it turns out, commissioned portraits are still a relatively popular item in high society and the customers always paid handsomely for them.

 He was lucky to be friends with someone like Balthazar, who was not only willing to help him expand his knowledge and artistry, but who gave him a lead into a financial market he’d have otherwise never penetrated. Balthazar had friends in high places, all over the country and beyond. He had a condo in Kansas, a beach house in Los Angeles, and a vacation home in Versailles, France where most of his family lived. The man was downright rich, both from his family inheritance and his enormous talents, so he had the freedom to turn down projects.  But twelve thousand dollars for a portrait? That could pay his and Charlie’s rent for a whole year and he was on board as soon as he heard what the man was willing to pay. The meeting was quick and concise, so Castiel arrived at Katze Café nearly an hour before Dean was set to arrive.

He was enjoying a second cup of his favorite coffee drink when he saw Dean walk in. The man still moved with the same confident swagger as he did in college; silently acknowledging the new surroundings, but walking with a stride that said he belonged there. Castiel locked eyes with him within seconds and gave a small wave. Dean grinned and made his way over, smoothing down his shirt along the way. Looking at Dean, Castiel suddenly felt underdressed. His client from the meeting was an acquaintance so he hadn’t bothered to dress up, instead wearing a pair of tight black jeans and a grey t-shirt of his own design. He had decided against a cardigan or sweatshirt because of the early summer heat. But Dean, he was dressed in dark slacks and a crème colored button-up shirt (that Castiel may or may not have noticed was fitted very well to his chest) with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.  The only indication that Dean had even noticed the temperature in the air were the undone shirt buttons at the base of his throat, open enough to put his neck and collarbones on display for all to see.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted with a smile as he took the chair across from him.

Castiel grinned. “I’m glad you made it. Did you find the place okay?”

Dean chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, once Zeke admitted defeat and let me drive. He missed a turn from the GPS and ended up going like sixteen miles in the opposite direction from here trying to fix it.”

At the mention of the other man’s name, Castiel’s stomach tightened. “Will he be joining us?” He asked tentatively.

“Nah,” Dean responded with a wave of us hand. Castiel relaxed immediately, hoping his relief wasn’t obvious and rude. “He’s taking the car out to some specialty baby store in Andover. He’s gonna buy our gifts for Jo’s coed babyshower. I figured he’d probably know a lot more about babies than I ever did.”

Castiel nodded. “He has a son, doesn’t he?”

A dark look crossed Dean’s face. “Yeah, how--“

“Charlie,” Castiel answered quickly. “Charlie watches _Guardians_ so she’s got a creepy amount of backstory on all the actors and actresses from the show. She mentioned it to me in passing.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Charlie? That, uh, that’s the redheaded girl, right? The one you met on New Years when we were…” Dean stopped and cleared his throat. “..when we were at KU together.”

“The very same,” he responded. “I’m sorry for bringing up his child, it was invasive.”

“No,” Dean started, but clamped his mouth shut when the waitress showed up beside their table.

“What can I get for you?” she asked with a polite smile.

Dean grabbed at the menu he’d left idle on the table and looked over it with a furrowed brow.

“Do you need a minute?” the girl asked as she watched him squint at the menu.

“Uh, I think I may need a day or two to learn how to pronounce anything on here,” Dean responded and Castiel snorted.

“What are you in the mood for, Dean?”

He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I don’t know, soup?”

Castiel glanced down at his own menu and then back at the waitress. “Can you get him the eintopf, and I’ll have a bowl of red pudding.”

“And to drink?”

Dean cast a glance over at Castiel and eyed his coffee. “Whaddya got there, Cas? Smells good.”

“Chocolate-almond coffee,” he responded with a smile. He could practically see Dean’s pupils dilate. “The flavors are pretty muted, behind the coffee, but it pairs just right with the dark roasted coffee beans they use.”

“That, please,” Dean said to the girl, pointing a finger at Castiel’s drink.

The girl scribbled the order down on her notepad and took the menus with a promise to be back soon with Dean’s coffee.

“So,” Dean started. “What exactly is eintopf?”

“German beef stew, basically,” Castiel responded.

Dean’s gave an impressed look, quickly transitioning into an expression of careful thought. “I, uh, I’m sorry about getting all weird before. About Zeke’s kid.”

Castiel made to answer but Dean stopped him.

“It’s not invasive, nothing like that, I promise. It’s just that, well, Zeke doesn’t get to see Thomas when he’s with me. I haven’t met the kid because his mom won’t let me.”

Castiel frowned. “Is she unaccepting of Ezekiel’s being bisexual?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, she’s just worried about giving Thomas the wrong impression. I mean, Zeke was kind of a serial dater before me. He’s dated almost every actress or gay actor he’s worked with for about two days before they’d break up. She just doesn’t want to expose her son to his father’s many relationships. When we’re in California, Zeke just goes upstate to spend time with him alone and I stay home. And I get it, I do. I just kind of feel like I’m taking the kid’s dad away from him sometimes, you know?”

“That’s not what’s happening, Dean,” Castiel reassured him. “It sounds like you’re backing off, like you’re giving him alone time with his son when he needs it. And you’re not pushing the mother at all. Dean, you’re doing fine.”

Dean gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Cas.”

At that moment, the waitress brought over Dean’s coffee and the conversation ceased while Dean took his first sip. The pornographic noise that slipped from Dean’s throat had made Castiel simultaneously blush and laugh.

“Sorry,” Dean said with a chuckle, wiping remnants of the drink from his lip. “But that is fuckin good, man.”

Dean fiddled with the handle of his cup when he placed it back on the table, and a short silence fell between them.

“Cas,” Dean asked, voice suddenly much quieter. “Do you…I mean, are you a little freaked out by how okay this is?”

Castiel straightened in his seat. “What do you mean?”

Dean raised his eyes and they locked with Castiel’s. “It’s just that this conversation, us, it’s all going so well. It feels like there should be tension, but there’s not.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up and he smiled slightly. “Are you upset at the lack of drama, Dean?”

“No,” Dean replied, chuckling. “I guess saying it wasn’t awkward made it awkward, huh?”

Castiel just smiled and held up his fingers pinched closely together. “Little bit.”

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and grinned. “I’m glad to be here, Cas, I really am. I missed you.”

Just like that, with those three words, something blossomed in Castiel’s chest. Three year’s worth of the ache and loss he refused to feel when he left Dean had caught fire. He felt raw and open, and so unfortunately in love. He was still in love with Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's going to happen during the second half of their meeting? WHO KNOWS. (I know, you'll all just have to wait :D)


	10. Chapter 10

“Cas?”

Over the blood pounding in his ears he could faintly hear someone calling his name.

“Cas?”

He was starting to panic. His throat was closing up and his heart rate spiking like he was having an allergic reaction.

And then a pair of fingers snapped harshly in front of his face and it shocked him back into the present. He looked up to see Dean staring at him, clearly concerned.

“Cas, you okay?”

Castiel shook himself and squared his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah sorry. I’m fine.”

The concern was draining from Dean’s face, a sideways smiling tugging up from the corner of his mouth to replace it. “You sure, man? You just spent the last five minutes glaring at the edge of the table like it personally offended you.”

Castiel forced himself to chuckle. “No, I…I’m fine. I just had a, uh, thought about my upcoming commission piece,” he lied. “It just hit me out of nowhere, I apologize.”

Dean waved his hand. “It’s cool, man, you just had me worried there for a second. So, tell me about this commission piece.”

Castiel exhaled, relieved that the change in subject came so easily. This freakout was best saved for later, when he was alone in his bedroom away from Dean.

“Commissions are actually pretty boring,” he started, and Dean raised his eyebrows. “Not like, ‘I never want to do them’ boring, but people are paying you to paint what _they_ want, not what _I_ want, you know?”

Dean nodded minutely, “Yeah, I guess I get that. What’s this new one all about?”

“This man, Howard, he commissioned a painting from me about a year ago. It was a portrait of his three German Shepherds that he wanted to put above the mantle in his house in Florida. He enjoyed my work so much that he asked me to paint his mother’s portrait for her eightieth birthday.”

“Wow,” Dean commented, smiling. “About how much is something like that worth, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Castiel fingers fiddled with his napkin as he answered. “The first piece I did for him was a significantly lower price because he had basically hired me on faith. He’s an old client of Balthazar’s, and he gave me the commission at his suggestion. He saw my portfolio, or a very small part of it, and hired me before we had the chance to meet because he wanted the piece done before the remodel of his beach house was finished. He paid me five grand for the first piece, but this new piece he’s paying me twelve.”

Dean sat back and whistled. “That’s a hell of a paycheck.”

Castiel grinned. “You should see the pricetag on one of Balthazar’s originals.”

“I have, actually,” Dean responded. “After we ran into you guys at the bar last weekend, Zeke swore up and down that he’s heard the name before. Turns out he’s actually bought a couple of pieces from him. He’s a talented guy.”

Castiel smiled and nodded. “I'd have nothing if it weren’t for him. His pieces go for such a high price that he can afford to turn some down, and when he does he sends the clients to me with his own seal of approval. It’s more work than I ever imagined I’d have so soon out of college.”

“Were you expecting the life of a starving artist?” Dean asked with an impish grin. “The whole industrial loft apartment with cracking brick walls and all your furniture is made from old plastic crates?”

Castiel snorted. “Actually, I sort of was. Things were very bleak right after graduation, and I thought I was going to have to get some really unsatisfying dead end job. Balthazar is the reason for all of my success.”

“No, man,” Dean replied. “You’re successful because you’re good, Cas. That’s all.”

Castiel looked at him, the supportive smile Dean wore making him grin. Dean had always been quick to praise him for his talent, but there was something deeper in the look Dean gave him. Something like…pride? Just the thought of Dean being so fiercely proud that Castiel was successful in doing what he loved made his heart stutter. He could feel the pinkness of a blush rising up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said quietly. “Really.”

Dean’s smile just widened. “You don’t need your fancy shmancy boyfriend to get commissions. Maybe I’ll hire you to do a portrait of my dog.”

“You have a dog?” Castiel asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yeah,” Dean responded. “Cute little Pomeranian. She’s a beautiful little angel, and so well behaved. She goes everywhere with me in this adorable little totebag I bought.”

Castiel’s expression of shock must have been ridiculous, because after only a few seconds Dean burst out laughing, with a hand on his chest and his head thrown back. Castiel could only scrunch his face in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, still chuckling and wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I couldn’t help myself. I don’t have a dog, especially not one of those fuckin ankle biters. But your face, Cas, my god.”

Castiel slumped, laughing lightly himself. “Thank god. I was afraid your time in the industry made you go darkside.”

Dean just shook his head, still laughing. “So, where’s the bathroom in this place?” he asked.

Castiel pointed it out to him and Dean excused himself. As soon as his back was turned, Castiel fished his phone out of his pocket, firing off a quick text to Balthazar.

**_[I have a huge problem.]_ **

Balthazar’s response was near instantaneous, as always.

**_[Balthazar: Well, it if lasts more than four hours then you should go to the emergency room.]_ **

**_[NOT FUNNY]_ **

**_[Balthazar: Aren’t you supposed to be out with Dean right now?]_ **

**_[I am. That’s the problem.]_ **

**_[Balthazar: Is he being rude?]_ **

**_[No.]_ **

**_[Balthazar: Did he bring his boyfriend?]_ **

**_[No.]_ **

**_[Balthazar: Then what, pray tell, is the problem here, Cassie?]_ **

**_[I love him.]_ **

Balthazar’s responses stopped after that, and Castiel’s anxiety increased tenfold, even moreso minutes later when he caught a glimpse of Dean returning to the table out of the corner of his eye. He shoved his phone back into his pocket as Dean sat. He opened his mouth, about to speak, when their waitress returned to the tabled with a serving tray in hand. She set a steaming bowl of delicious smelling, thick soup in front of Dean and a bowl of fragrant berry compote for himself.

“Anything else I can get for you? A refill on coffee” the girl asked politely.

Castiel shook his head at her. “No thank you, but an ice water would be nice.”

Dean nodded. “Same here, please.”

The waitress nodded with a smile and walked away, empty serving tray in hand. She was back in moments with their water, setting it down and disappearing again.

Dean leaned over his soup, inhaling deeply, and let out a pleased sound. He was just putting a spoon to his own dish when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He left it, not wanting to be rude, and instead took a few small bites of his food while Dean did the same. After a few moments of eating in a comfortable silence, the chorus from _You Shook Me All Night Long_ by ACDC rang out, muffled from the fabric of Dean’s pants pocket. He muttered a quick apology and fished the phone out to look at the screen.

Frowning slightly, he looked up. “I’m sorry, Cas, do you mind if I take this really quick? It’s my dad. With all the court stuff going on, you never know which calls might be important.”

“No, no, go ahead,” Castiel urged.

Dean shot him a quick, grateful smile and made his way outside for some privacy. He was standing outside, near enough to the window that Castiel could still see him. He had one hand on the phone at his ear, and the other placed on his hip. He was facing away so Castiel couldn’t see his expression, but his posture suggested that the phone call wasn’t a positive one. He was tense, standing straight with his shoulders bunched. The muscles in his back and arms were accentuated by the light color of his shirt, and Castiel stared guiltily at the bunch and release of them as Dean shifted from foot to foot, even chancing a quick glance down where his pants clung beautifully to his ass. That had always been one of his favorite parts of Dean.

Another buzzing from his pocket jerked him out of his own thoughts before they could become too pornographic, thankfully. He looked up to make sure Dean was still in the middle of talking before pulling out his own cellphone.

**_[Balthazar: You are going to be the death of me, you know.]_ **

**_[Balthazar: I’m picking up a few things and heading over to your place. Don’t dawdle when your little date is over because you have some serious explaining to do.]_ **

**_[Yes, your majesty.]_ **

After stowing his phone away once again, he looked up just in time to see Dean hang up and dial another number. He spoke a few short sentences to whoever was on the other line before he hung up and put away his own phone. Dean reentered the café with a solemn face, and just like that Castiel knew what was going to happen.

“I’m really sorry, Cas,” Dean said with a sigh. He flagged their waitress down as he took his seat, pointing to his food and gesturing for some to-go containers with his hands. “Apparently there’s some new stuff our lawyer wants to present to us, and my dad wants both me and Sam there. Zeke is on his way to get me right now.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. They’d hardly been here an hour, and he was enjoying his time with Dean despite the crippling realization that his feelings for him were not as platonic as he’d thought. But maybe, just maybe it was a fluke.

That had to be it.

It was a fluke, a mistake, just old feelings coming back to haunt him the first chance they got. It was the first time he’d been truly alone with Dean in years, and he hasn’t had any other serious relationships since him. His mind (and body, his libido quickly reminded him) were just latching onto Dean because he was familiar. Right?

“It’s fine,” Castiel made himself say. He realized he had been silent for too long after the waitress’ arm came into view, handing Dean a to-go container for his soup and the bill for their meal. “I understand.”

Dean gave him an apologetic smile as he carefully transferred his food over. “I was having a good time.”

“Me too,” Castiel replied immediately with a wan smile, following his lead.

Dean licked his lips and fished his phone out again, clicking around for a few seconds before speaking again. “I’m here for another week still. We could try again?”

“Of course,” Castiel answered. “I’d love that.”

Dean’s face brightened. “Hey, maybe we could all meet up at Players again. I doubt any lawyers will be calling for a meeting that late at night, less of a chance we’d be interrupted.”

 _Not to mention I wouldn’t have to be alone with you and make a fool of myself_ , Castiel thought to himself.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a smile. “That sounds like a plan, I’m sure Balthazar and Charlie would be up to it. How about this Saturday?”

Dean nodded. “Maybe I’ll bring Sammy and Jess out this time, if they’re up to it. They’ve been talking about kids a lot the last few months, so I don’t have much time left to haul ‘em out on the town and get them both well and truly shitfaced.”

Castiel laughed. “So, a year from now you’ll be Uncle Dean I guess.”

Dean chuckled. “Sooner than that, actually, if we’re counting Jo. That girl is ready to pop.”

“That is true,” Castiel replied. “I’m surprised she’s still walking with how big she’s gotten.”

“I keep telling her it’s twins, but she swears it’s just one big baby in there,” Dean said. “I honestly didn’t think that girl could get any scarier than she was as a teenager, but boy, pregnancy really did a number on her temper.”

Castiel laughed. Before he could respond, Dean’s phone was ringing once again and he swiped the screen to answer.

“Hey,” he said into the phone quietly, an odd tilt to his voice that Castiel recognized. It was the same way Dean used to answer when _he_ called. His voice low and slow, practically a drawl. He had to tamp down his jealousy. He had decided it was all just a fluke. “Alright, I’ll be out in a sec.”

Dean closed the phone again and then threw a few bills down on the table, waving Cas away when he reached for his wallet. “Zeke’s turning up the next street, so I guess I should go wait for him.”

“I’ll, uh, walk out with you,” Castiel said, standing from his seat and grabbing his box.

Dean did the same, and they exited the café, both giving their waitress a smile and nod as they passed by. Outside the sun was still shining, and the afternoon had gotten even warmer as the day wore on.

Dean pulled at the collar of his shirt a few times, drawing Castiel’s gaze to his exposed collarbones as he attempted to bring himself a bit of cool air. “Whew,” he muttered. “Being in London almost made me forget how hot it was in the states during the summer. The whole time we were there it never got above seventy. Feels like a sauna out here.”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty hot one this year,” Castiel replied, trying not to stare.

A black car, the make Castiel couldn’t name, turned at the end of the street, making its way toward them. Dean turned toward it and waved a hand. “That’s my ride,” he said.

Castiel nodded, unsure of how to say goodbye. He could offer a handshake, but it didn’t seem genuine. Dean made the decision for him, however, when he clapped a hand down on Castiel’s shoulder and pulled him in for a hug. A very unexpected hug.

Dean wound his hands around Castiel’s shoulders, tight enough the Castiel could feel the edge of his box of food on his shoulder blade. Before he could even think about it, his hands found their way around Dean’s waist, holding on just as tight. The hand not holding his meal was clenched in the back of Dean’s shirt.

“It was good to see you,” Dean said to him, speaking quietly right next to his ear. Castiel gave a shudder that he prayed Dean couldn’t feel.

“You too,” he said as they parted. The car had rolled up beside them and Dean stepped away to open the passenger’s side door.

When he opened it, Ezekiel leaned forward, giving Castiel a wave of his own.

Castiel waved back, smiling.

“I’ll call you, alright?” Dean said, giving him one last grin before getting in the car.

Castiel took a few steps back and watched as they pulled away, and a strange tugging sensation bloomed in his chest.

“Oh shit,” he muttered to himself. “Please be a fluke.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can totally tell from this chapter that Balthazar/Cas is p. much my favorite brOTP.

Castiel walked into his house twenty minutes after leaving Dean to see Balthazar lounging casually on his couch watching CNN, a half empty glass of red wine in his hand.

“Okay, what—“Castiel started, before Balthazar held a hand up, stopping him.

The older man pointed toward the kitchen. “Before you start speaking, you are going to go into the kitchen and pour yourself a very large drink, such as I have here. Then you are going to sit on this couch and tell me everything, yes?”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, obediently heading to the kitchen. He opened his fridge to reveal several new bottles of alcohol; one red wine, one white, a bottle of Patrón, and three different types of beer.

Castiel brought the two bottles of wine out to the living room and held them up to Balthazar. “Exactly how much alcohol do you think the two of us can physically consume?”

“As much as it takes to fix this before it’s even broken, darling,” Balthazar responded with smile.

Castiel just rolled his eyes and took the bottles back to the kitchen. He chose the red wine as well, filling the largest glass he could find halfway. But then he realized a half full glass was for polite company, and Balthazar was _no_ polite company. So he tipped the bottle once again, filling his glass to the brim, so full it was almost dripping over the edge. So he leaned down toward the glass, slurping the excess from the top.

And that was how Balthazar found him several seconds later when he stepped into the kitchen; hunched over his overflowing glass of wine, sipping from the very edge.

“Oh lord,” Balthazar said, rolling his eyes and walking back to the living room. “This is worse than I thought.”

With one very loud last slurp, he grabbed his own glass and followed Balthazar, settling down next to him on the couch with a sigh.

“So?” Balthazar said.

“So what?” Castiel responded. “What am I supposed to say other than that I am apparently completely and irrevocably in love with Dean Winchester?”

“Oh, spare me the theatrics, Bella Swan,” Balthazar said with a scoff. “Just tell me what happened.”

So Castiel told him, to the best of his ability, all of the words exchanged between he and Dean that day. And all of the old feelings it brought up; the familiar old ache in his chest that exploded again once Dean had said he missed him, the inappropriate amount of lust he felt for the other man, and the confusion he felt when Dean hugged him goodbye. Balthazar listened silently to the very end, sipping his wine slowly in comparison to the huge gulps Castiel was taking as he spoke.

Once Castiel was finished with his story, Balthazar leaned back on the couch with him. “So all he had to do was tell you he missed you and suddenly your loins are burning? My god, you’re easy.”

“ _Balthazar,_ ” Castiel growled, only slightly offended.

“Oh relax, darling,” the older man responded before standing. He disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with rest of the red wine, the Patrón, and two small shot glasses. “You’re not the first one to fall back into an old trap.”

“Dean isn’t a trap, Balthazar,” Castiel pouted. “It just doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t seen him in years, and we’re two completely different people now.”

Balthazar refilled both of their empty glass, and poured two shots, handing one of them to Castiel. “Drink, you’ll feel better.”

“I highly doubt that,” Castiel muttered. He took the shot anyway.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Balthazar said seriously. “But what you fail to realize is that you and Dean are not _completely different people_. Stop beating yourself up.”

Castiel just sighed and grabbed his wine glass. “But we are. He’s with someone new, and I was happy alone before he got here. I was fine without him, I swear I was.”

Balthazar swirled the wine around in his glass. “Him dating someone new doesn’t make him a different person. From what you’ve told me tonight and those few spare details you’ve given me over the last few years, he sounds like he’s the same old Dean from college. Especially the way you say he looked at you when you were talking about your art. And a few extra years hasn’t changed you either, love. You’re still….a giant nerd.”

Castiel chuckled and shoved lightly at Balthazar’s shoulder. “Shut up, you didn’t even know me when I was in college.”

Balthazar grinned for a moment before getting serious once again. “But I mean it. You’re still you, Cassie. You’re still the slightly socially incompetent, adorable, fiercely loyal, talented young man you were when you dated Dean. And one of the few things you told me about him before this was that he’s the reason you changed your major in college. That’s a turning point, Castiel. He’s part of the reason you’re doing what you do today. From what I’ve seen, you’ve been talented since you were young, but he was the one who made you believe that you could do what you love instead of what was expected of you. You don’t just fall out of love with someone who played such a big part in who you’ve become.”

Castiel just shrugged. “I guess. But where does that leave me now? He’s been such a huge part of me, without me even realizing, but what am I to him?”

‘I can’t answer that,” Balthazar replied with sad smile. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel let out a wail of frustration and drained the rest of his wine in one gulp, holding out the empty glass for Balthazar to fill again. Once the glass was full, and back in his hand, he took a sip. Lifting his feet up on the couch, he curled himself into Balthazar’s side. “Why couldn’t things have just worked out between you and I?”

Balthazar laughed and swung a comforting arm around his shoulders. “If they had, Dean’s return would have stirred up these same feelings, only you’d have the guilt of loving him while you were already with someone else.”

“I suppose so,” Castiel sighed. He was less panicky now. He felt warm, buzzed, and safe against his friend’s side. The wine was helping, so he took another sip.

“It also didn’t work because I wouldn’t let you stick your cock in me,” Balthazar deadpanned.

Castiel sputtered, laughing, with drops of wine dribbling down his chin.

“That was an awkward night for both of us, really,” Balthazar went on, grinning. He pinched his fingers close together. “I mean, I was this close.”

Castiel flushed, remembering that night. They really had come close. They’d rutted against one another, fueled by wine and weeks worth of frustration that was brought on by subtle flirtations. Often times Castiel forgets that his tongue has been in Balthazar’s mouth, and the other man’s hand had brushed against intimate places beneath his clothes.

“That does remind me though,” the older man continued. “I was talking about you to a friend yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Balthazar moved to refill his own glass. “I had lunch with an old friend of mine, Stannis Richmond. He’s a doctor.”

Castiel smirked. “Stannis? Like, Stannis Baratheon?”

“Hardly,” Balthazar replied. “He was born twenty years before the books came out. And don’t let him hear you make that comparison because he hates _Game of Thrones_.”

Castiel laughed and gestured wildly with his hands, nearly dumping his wine. “Who hates _Game of Thrones_?”

Balthazar removed the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table. “Men named Stannis, apparently. Now focus, you lush, I’m trying to tell you something.”

Castiel straightened up and rubbed a hand over his face. “Sorry, continue.”

Balthazar just shook his head fondly. “Anyway, I was telling Stannis about your little…problem with bottoming, and he thinks you should go get checked out.”

Castiel paled. “He thinks….? Is it something serious? Oh my god, Balthazar, do I have cancer? How have I never considered that before? I just thought it was the way my body was because I read things online about other people who--”

“CASTIEL,” Balthazar shouted, covering Castiel’s mouth with his hand. “Do shut up, please.”

Castiel just nodded beneath his palm and looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“No, you lunatic, he doesn’t think you have cancer.”

Castiel flopped back into the couch, exhaling loudly.

Balthazar leaned back with him, plastering himself to Castiel’s side and rewrapping his arm around his shoulders. “It is quite rare for someone as young as you to have prostate cancer, but he did ask if there was anything odd besides the pain you feel upon insertion. Is there?”

Castiel shrugged one shoulder. “Like what? I never even really thought about it.”

“Well,” Balthazar started. “From what he described, if it was something serious you’d have several more symptoms, not just pain. Trouble taking a piss, bleeding from places you’re not supposed to bleed, pain without provocation, erectile dysfunction. If I’m remembering our almost-romp correctly, that last one isn’t a problem for you.”

“None of those things apply to me,” Castiel responded, blushing slightly. “It only hurts when, you know, there’s something _in_ there. Pressing against it.”

“That’s what I thought, and that’s what I told him. He said you should go and get it checked out because it’s probably a cyst.”

“A cyst?” Castiel repeated.

Balthazar nodded. “You could be correct in assuming that your body is just wired that way, and your prostate isn’t an erogenous zone. But, if it is a cyst, the procedure for removing them is minimally invasive and has a surprisingly short healing period. You could be bottoming for bar hotties in three to six months.”

“Really?” Castiel asked, surprised. Bottoming was something he never thought he’d be able to do again after that disaster with Adam the Barista, but he always wanted it. And of course, his half-drunken mind supplied him with vivid memories of phone sex with Dean, when they’d roleplayed Castiel bottoming.

Balthazar nodded again. “But I’ll have you know, Cassie, if you get that ripe bottom in working order, I’m coming for you. That’s a party I’ve been waiting to crash.”

Castiel grinned. “Consider yourself invited.”

He knew the words were lies as soon as they left his lips. The only person he wanted was Dean. And from the look on Balthazar’s, he knew as well. But he kissed Castiel on the temple and ruffled his hair like it was nothing.

“Well now,” the older man started, leaning forward to retrieve his wine glass once again. “How about you go and grab your laptop. We’ll go virtual window shopping for the perfect dildo for your coming out party.”

Castiel stood. “Wouldn’t it technically be a ‘going in’ party?”

“Oh, get out of here, you,” Balthazar responded, giving him a hearty thwap on the ass.

So Castiel went to retrieve his computer, cackling the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, inspiration for Castiel's wineglass antics brought to you by this photo of Julia Louis-Dreyfus:
> 
> http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/87/de/68/87de681ba3e1898e91174b4dc582b1b4.jpg


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was not in love with Castiel, he was very sure of that.

He had missed him, of course, and he hadn’t known just how much until the day of their lunch get together. The awkwardness he had dreaded was gone in seconds and Cas was just the same old dork he had always been; talented and awkward, modest and loyal. Dean was happy that Cas had found someone like Balthazar. The man, while quite a bit older than Castiel, seemed to make him happy. He had always believed that Castiel could make it with just his own two hands and the masterpieces that came from them, but Balthazar was helping him get there and God knows Cas deserved it. Now that he was more open with his art, Dean was dying to see Castiel’s portfolio. When he had mentioned it at lunch, visions of his old work had danced in Dean’s head; sketches of the clearing where he used to race, the snake with wings, and paintings of his own sleeping face, perfectly captured with the love and care of Castiel’s talented hands. Part of Dean, the more dangerous part, had even stopped to wonder if perhaps Cas still had those pieces stashed away somewhere.

He quickly shook himself out of those thoughts and stared out the passenger side window, watching as the trees flew by. They were on their way back to his father’s house, where his family was waiting. Their lawyer had called his father and told him that there was news related to their case. Whatever it was had also required the Sheriff to be present, so it must have been something big.

“Are you alright, darling?” Zeke asked from the driver’s seat. He casted a quick, worried glance Dean’s way.

Dean gave him a tiny half-smile. “I’m fine. I guess I’m just not very optimistic about these meetings with the Sheriff. So far they haven’t come with much good news.”

Zeke took one hand off the wheel and found Dean’s own, threading their fingers together and squeezing lightly. “I know my being sorry doesn’t help much, but for what it’s worth, I am.”

Dean just gave him a tired smile and ran his thumb over his boyfriend’s fingers. The rest of the drive was relatively silent, save for a few comments from Zeke about the items he’d been thinking about getting for Jo and Ash’s baby. The call from the lawyer came so quickly after Zeke dropped him off that he barely made it to Andover before he had to come back for Dean. When they arrived, his father’s driveway was packed with cars; Sam and Jess’ white Kia Sorento, their family lawyer’s black Cadillac CTS, his father’s own green Ford work truck, and the Sheriff’s car parked right out on the curb. Zeke pulled their rental directly behind the police cruiser and gave Dean’s hand one last squeeze before shutting off the engine.

When they walked in the house, both the Sheriff and their lawyer stood to greet them, but Sam, Jess, and his father stayed sitting wearily on the couch. It would seem the three of them didn’t have such high hopes for this meeting either. Their lawyer, Brady Johnson, sat back down after shaking Dean’s hand, but the Sheriff stood still. The whole house was eerily quiet, save for the sound of the coffee machine slowly brewing a new pot in the kitchen.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Dean said, moving to sit on the loveseat.

Zeke, knowing that he was a relatively new addition to Dean’s life, looked around the room precariously before giving Dean’s shoulder a light brush with his fingers. “I can wait for you in the other room, this seems to be a family matter.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jess volunteered, ever the polite one.

“Don’t be silly,” John said gruffly. “Jess, you’re family. And Zeke, my son loves you so that makes you family too.”

“Actually, John,” the Sheriff interjected. “This is a very, very sensitive matter and we would prefer to speak with just you and your sons for the time being.”

Jess stood from her seat and crossed the room, looping her arm through Ezekiel’s. “Come on, there’s a garden out back. We can sit in the gazebo while they’re talking.”

Once they heard the backdoor shut, the Sheriff sat. She looked torn, and it made the knot in Dean’s stomach grow bigger, tighter, more threatening. Whatever it was she had to say, even she didn’t like it, that much was clear.

John sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Whatever you’re going to say, say it.”

The Sheriff sighed. “This morning, Ms. Markova met with her lawyer and she divulged some very interesting information regarding the Demon Warriors.”

Dean frowned. “The what?”

“Drug peddlers,” his father responded. “They’ve only been around a couple of years, but it’s all over the news all the time it seems like.”

The Sheriff nodded. “You’ve been away from home awhile Dean,” she said, causing guilt to flare up in him immediately. “Some new gang popped up on the scene here a few years back, call themselves the Demon Warriors. All we’ve been able to figure out about them is that they originated from New York and they specialize in the distribution of LSD and Ecstasy. It’s being sold rapidly, in huge quantities all over this state and surrounding ones as well and not one of our officers can get a lead on where the base of operations is. They stamp all of their products with a signature; a smiley face with devil horns.”

“So she’s a drug dealer, too,” John growled. “What does that have to do with my wife?”

The Sheriff glanced over to Mr. Johnson and he slowly pulled a manila folder from his briefcase. “Cher Markova agreed to give over information about the Demon Warriors that could lead to a total shutdown of their operation.”

Dean frowned in confusion, and saw that his father’s expression mirrored his own. But Sam, his downcast eyes raised slowly and his face schooled into a stony expression.

“In exchange for what?” Sam asked.

The lawyer slid the folder in his hands across the coffee table toward Sam and his father. “In exchange for a guarantee that she will never see the inside of a prison cell.”

Dean’s blood ran cold.

John slid the folder back to him without even opening it. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” the Sheriff said quietly. “But this is information that we may never get again. Because of this gang, people are dying. Children are dying. Drug consumption among high school students has raised almost twenty percent in the last five years. Just this year alone four high school students in this county have died from ingesting LSD made with unstable compounds, all of which have been linked to the Demon Warriors.”

“This is bullshit,” Dean whispered to himself angrily.

“What was that?” Mr. Johnson asked.

Dean raised his head. “I said, _this is bullshit!_ ” he yelled. “If you know that she knows information about this fucking drug ring, why don’t you arrest her for that? She’s admitting that she was a part of it. If anything you should be adding time onto her sentence, not letting her off guilt-free.”

Mr. Johnson waved a hand toward the folder still sitting on the coffee table. “The paperwork will show that although she’d face no jail time, she will still be subject to punishment.”

“Like what?” Sam demanded.

“Her driver’s license is going to be revoked—“

Dean snorted humorlessly. “Yeah, because no one’s ever driven without a license before.”

The lawyer side-eyed him briefly before continuing. “She’ll face five years of probation—“

“Probation,” Dean interrupted again. “Great, I’m sure nobody fucks around when they’re on probation.”

Mr. Johnson sighed. He opened the folder on the table and flipped through the pages, before finding what it was he wanted. He set the document on the table and turned it toward them. “She’s agreed to pay her settlement, Mr. Winchester. She’s even agreed to up the amount if your family chooses to.”

“Yeah? How much,” Dean asked, crossing his arms. Both John and Sam looked at Dean like he’d grown another head.

He shrugged before answering. “How much is your family looking for? She’s a very well off young woman, so I’m sure she could pay it, whatever it is.”

Dean picked up the settlement paper from the table and scanned it quickly. He couldn’t read the words littering the paper because his eyes had blurred with rage, but he needed a moment to reign in the hatred he felt for the assholes that were trying to sweep his mother under the rug like she meant nothing.

He gripped the paper tight, crinkling the edges and flexed his jaw once before speaking. “Well, Mr. Johnson, about how much of her drug money do you think it would take to bring my mother back?”

The lawyer sputtered for a few moments, before clamping his mouth shut, embarrassed. He had obviously thought that a large sum of money would be enough to shut the Winchester’s up and go ahead with their plan. What he hadn’t anticipated was a family that loved their wife and mother so much that no amount of money could ease their pain. They wanted justice and it seemed like everyone was trying to take it away. Dean crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it at the lawyer’s feet.

The Sheriff, who had been quiet for the past few minutes, reached down to grab the rumpled document. “Dean, what happened to your mother,” she started, and then turned toward John. “To your wife, was a terrible, terrible tragedy. But the things this woman knows will help us stop so many more bad things from happening. We didn’t bring this to you for your approval, just as a courtesy. Two weeks from now, Ms. Markova will be giving her testimony to the District Attorney, after which she will be released.”

John stood, grabbed the folder off of the coffee table and shoved it at the Sheriff. “Get out of my house.”

“Mr. Winchester,” she started.

“Out!” He yelled. He pointed at the lawyer. “You too.”

Mr. Johnson sighed and ducked his head. “With all due respect, Mr. Winchester, this arrangement is what’s best for the community as a whole.”

John grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacked and forced him up off the couch. Mr. Johnson gasped, clutching his briefcase tightly to his body and rearing his head back away from John’s.

“Well,” Dean’s father spit at him. “With zero respect whatsoever, you’re fired.”

He shoved the lawyer in the direction of the door, and the man stumbled before the Sheriff caught his arm. “Firing your settlement lawyer won’t change things, John,” She said. “Her testimony is going straight to the DEA. It’s a federal case that takes precedence over your wife’s accident.”

Dean’s father was shaking, he could see it. His shoulders were heaving with the force of his anger. But instead of yelling or throwing fists, he just stomped out of the room and up the stairs wordlessly. As soon as he was out of sight, Mr. Johnson scrambled out the door.

Sheriff Mills sighed and looked at Sam and Dean, still seated and staring at her accusingly. “Sam,” she said. “You know how these things works, and you know there’s nothing I want more than to help you—“

“Don’t,” Sam stopped her. “Yeah, I know how these things work. I know that there are a thousand other things your people could have offered her; state prison instead of federal, less probation, more freedoms, anything. But you’re letting her go.” And with that, Sam followed his father’s example, leaving the room and walking toward the back door.

“She gave us no leeway, Sam,” She called after him.

When it was just the two of them left in the room, Sheriff Mills stared at him. Dean looked her right in the eye, willing her to say on more stupid thing, trying to justify their actions. But she just shook her head sadly, apologized, and left.

Dean didn’t move once she was gone. After a few minutes, Zeke joined him on the couch, handing him a fresh, hot cup of coffee. It was lightened by a splash of cream and he could smell the sweetness of too many spoonfuls of sugar wafting toward him. He took a sip, inwardly cringing at the saccharine taste. They sat together quietly, Zeke just a warm weight at his side, waiting for Dean to be ready to talk. He appreciated that Ezekiel never pushed him, but today, today that just wasn’t what he wanted. He was fizzling beneath his skin; angry, sad, vigilant, and Zeke’s silence and understanding wasn’t hurting, but it wasn’t helping either. He wanted a little bit of fierceness. He wanted someone fluttering nervously around him, trying to help him understand, speaking out of turn, and pressing him close. He needed to talk to someone. He needed…he needed to talk to Castiel.

Dean turned to his boyfriend tentatively. “Zeke, do you think, um…”

Zeke turned toward him, brow furrowed with concern. “What is it, Dean?”

“It’s just, do you mind if I stay here with my dad tonight? Alone?”

His boyfriend reached out to stroke soft fingers along his cheek. “Of course, Dean. I understand. Would you like me to leave you the car? I’m sure I could find a cab in the phonebook.”

Dean just shook his head. “No, go ahead and take the rental. I’ll just have Sammy drive me back to the hotel tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Dean nodded and then dragged his boyfriend close for a kiss. Ezekiel left, after saying goodbye to Jess and Sam, but his father stayed resolutely holed up in his own bedroom. More likely than not, John was drinking away the day’s disappointments in the bed he shared with his late wife, mourning in the only way he seemed to know how. At first he and Sam had been worried about their father, worried he would never find his way back out of the bottle, but as the days went on John drank a little less and slept a little more.

He got a nod of approval from Sam, saying he’d take him back to the hotel tomorrow. He and Jess were going back to their hotel room a few streets away, but for tonight Dean was going to stay in his childhood bedroom. It was a comfort he needed today. Now that Sam and Jess were gone, and his father was well on his way to being out cold for the night, he decided to get some work done around the house. Their family’s grief had outweighed the need for cleanliness, and Sam and Jess could only do so much, so the house had been mostly overrun by dirty dishes, empty bottles (thankfully not _all_ alcohol), and trash from takeout. He spent a few hours scrubbing the kitchen clean in a way that hadn’t been done since he was a child and his mother went on a spring cleaning kick. By the time it was dark outside, almost the entire house was spotless.

Around nine he made his way upstairs for a shower. He opened the door of his father’s bedroom to check on him first, finding him asleep on top of his blankets, a barely touched bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. Once he was showered and free of the grime from housework, he swiped a pair of his father’s pajama pants and settled into the small bed in his room. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until his finger hovered over Castiel’s name. He felt a brief twinge of guilt for lying to Zeke; he had wanted to stay at his family’s house, but he also wanted to talk to Cas in a way that he didn’t feel comfortable doing around his boyfriend. He wanted to reminisce and laugh and seek comfort without worrying what Zeke would see beneath the surface.

Not that there _was_ anything beneath the surface. Cas was his friend. He had loved him once upon a time and back then it felt like he needed him more than anything. They had done well for themselves over the years, being separated, but what could it hurt to still need someone who was such a great, big part of who you were? So he hit the call button.

The phone rang so long that Dean was afraid he wouldn’t answer. Leaving a message seemed too strange, so he was about to hang up when the other line finally clicked on.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, sounding confused.

“Uh, y-yeah, hey,” he stammered. “Hey Cas. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, really,” Cas slurred over the line. “Balthazar and I were just getting a little drunk.”

Dean smiled sadly, remembering what a goof he turned into when he was smashed. And of course he was with his boyfriend, probably snuggled in for a night together. Suddenly Dean felt like an idiot for having called at all. “I’m sorry, Cas. I can let you go if you guys are busy.”

“No, no, no,” Cas chimed. “I’m by myself right now. Charlie got home a little while ago and Balthazar had her drive him across town to pick up some food for the three of us. You sound—you sound upset. Was the meeting bad?”

Dean broke open like a dam. Cas’ sincere, innocent worry for him had the story of his afternoon tumbling out like word-vomit; every single feeling of anger and betrayal toward the justice system, the hatred he felt for Cher Markova, his worry for his father, it all shot from his mouth like a geyser. He told him every possible detail he legally could, and probably some things he wasn’t supposed to repeat to others just yet. And Cas, he just listened quietly for as long as Dean spoke.

“I just don’t know what to do, man,” Dean finished.

“Fuck,” Cas swore. “Those fucking bastards. That woman should fucking pay for what she did.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You sure got a mouth on you these days, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Cas apologized. “That was out of line. I know the case isn’t my business and she wasn’t my mother but I…I just want justice for her too, you know.”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean said, settling on his side with the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow. “I like that you speak your mind.”

“Well,” Cas mumbled. “I’m sure the alcohol I’ve consumed is helping.”

Dean laughed. That was one thing he liked the most about Castiel. No matter what happened, no matter how bad he felt, Cas could always make him laugh. It made him wonder how he’d survived so long without Castiel in his life, and he was so thankful to have him back. Castiel’s friendship filled an emptiness in him that he hadn’t even known was there. He needed him, he knew. But he wasn’t in love with him anymore, he was…almost sure of that. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally posting again! Hopefully I'll be able to keep to my schedule this time because I missed writing this story!

Saturday night found Castiel and his ragtag group of friends, namely Balthazar and Charlie, waiting for Dean and Ezekiel in a café two blocks from Players. It was a 24-hour place where they could park their cars without risk of towing in case they ended up catching a cab back home. Dean had called him that morning and said they should all get together because he was going to be flying back to California on Tuesday, and from there he’d be flying back to England less than a week later. So they waited; Balthazar in one of his usual three thousand dollar suits, Charlie in an emerald green dress with a modest skirt but a deep neckline, and Castiel was wearing…well, he wasn’t exactly sure what.

Balthazar had always insisted on helping him pick out clothes when he was around, but this night had been different. Balthazar had made him his own personal dress-up doll from head to toe. He’d given Castiel a slight hair trim, waxed his eyebrows and cleaned up his stubble. He’d even tried to wax Castiel’s torso, but after thirty minutes of arguing and then finally threatening to take scissors to the new outfit Balthazar had bought him, he’d managed to get out of it. Balthazar, the bastard, already knew all of his clothing sizes so he didn’t even need Castiel there when he shopped for him, because if he had been there he’d have never allowed his friend to buy the clothes he was wearing. He was dressed in a pair of tight, jet black pants that Balthazar swore hugged his ass perfectly, and when he looked at himself in the mirror he couldn’t exactly disagree. The top he wore was a soft black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and the top few buttons undone, and it was just tight enough to show off his physique. The pants and the shirt were not what worried Castiel; what worried him was the shoes his friend had chosen. Balthazar was a self-proclaimed connoisseur of fashion, and normally his tastes were spot on, but the shoes he had chosen for Castiel’s outfit weren't even shoes. They were boots. They weren’t even a nice dressy pair from Nordstroms or a simple pair of Doc Martens, they were heavy black boots with straps and buckles that didn't belong. And so tall! The tops of the boots ended only a few inches below his knee! He didn’t get to check himself over in the mirror for more than a few seconds before Balthazar was “artfully” ruffling up his hair and forcing him out the door.

But as they sat in the café waiting on Dean and Ezekiel, he caught sight of himself in the window of the shop and grimaced.

“I look ridiculous,” he pouted.

“No,” Charlie started. “You look like a sort of mild-mannered club kid.”

“Exactly,” he responded. “Ridiculous. Never in my life have I worn my pants tucked into my shoes, and never have I wanted to.”

Balthazar gave him a light smack on the back of the head. “Stop insulting my art, you look ravishing.”

“This is not art,” Castiel replied, gesturing to his outfit. “This is embarrassing.”

“Oh, come on, Cas,” Charlie said with a playful push. “Sure, it’s not your usual look, but it’s good. You know I love me some ladies but even I gotta admit you look pretty hot.”

Balthazar nodded and then squinted at his face, concentrating for a moment. “You’d look even better if I could maybe find some charcoal eyeliner and give you a little smudge—“

“I’ve got some!” Charlie practically yelped, delving her hand into her purse. She produced a small black makeup pencil after a few seconds and both she and Balthazar grinned at him.

He pointed first at Balthazar, and then at Charlie. “No.”

Both of their faces fell immediately. Balthazar rolled his eyes and Charlie muttered something about him being a spoilsport before tossing the pencil back into her handbag. A few minutes passed, blissfully absent of anymore attempts to put him in makeup, and Castiel saw a large black car pulled into a parking space outside; the same car Ezekiel had driven to pick Dean up from the Katze Café. Ezekiel, like Balthazar, was wearing an expensive suit. He imagined that Dean would be wearing something similar, like the last time they met at Players, but when Dean stepped out of the driver’s side door, Castiel could vaguely hear the imaginary _thunk_ of his jaw hitting the floor. Dean, while still exquisitely and probably expensively dressed, wasn’t exactly in a full suit. His black slacks hugged his legs perfectly, a slim black belt with a gold buckle keeping them in place. Up top, Dean wore a crisp white button-up, layered with a gold tie and a tight black vest with the top button plunging as far down as the bottom of his ribcage. Attached to each side of the vest was a small, decorative gold chain. The stark white of his shirt and the splashes of gold made his green eyes shine bright and Castiel decided then and there that not only was Dean Winchester the love of his life, but also the bane of his existence. People are not supposed to be that beautiful.

To his left, Balthazar let out a low whistle and Charlie followed up with a quiet _mhmm_.

“Close your mouth, darling, you’ll catch flies,” Balthazar whispered to him.

Castiel just clamped his mouth shut and glared at his friend. After walking in, Dean and his boyfriend looked around the place for a few seconds before spotting them. Both armed with charming smiles they walked up to three friends, and Dean’s eyebrows shut up when he looked at Castiel.

“Wow,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning up. “You look different, Cas. I-I mean good, but, you know, different.”

Castiel just shrugged and then flailed his hands awkwardly toward Dean. “You look great too,” he said. And then he remembered that, yes, Dean’s boyfriend was there as well. “I mean, both of you, you both look wonderful.”

“Yes, yes,” Balthazar interrupted. “We all look extravagant. Now what do you say we head out? I am so looking forward to a good gin and tonic or four.”

Everyone chuckled and Ezekiel gestured toward the door. “Lead the way, Mr. Augustin.”

During the walk to the bar, Charlie had predictably finagled her way to Ezekiel’s side to ask him all about _Guardians_. Instead of getting annoyed or acting bored, he talked with her and laughed, ever the polite young man. Castiel was actually beginning to like him, and he hated it. He hated that Dean had chosen such a good man because it made him feel that much guiltier and wrong for the surge of feelings he felt whenever he was in Dean’s presence.

As they neared the bar, Charlie groaned. “Ugh, look at this line!”

There were people, all dressed their best, in a line around the building and it didn’t seem to be moving at all. When they had gone last week the line was much shorter, so Castiel wasn’t sure a slight flash of Balthazar’s credit card would get them in this time.

But Balthazar was ever the confident one. “Don’t worry, my loves. To get into Players on a Saturday you to be very hot, very rich, or very famous. Mr. Fairbank and I have our fame and riches, and you three kittens are hot to the touch so I’m sure we’ll get in just fine.”

He was right, of course. The bouncer at the door just nodded at him and stepped aside to welcome them in.

“Good evening, Mr. Augustin,” the man greeted.

“Good evening to you too, Alexander,” he replied with a smile. Once inside, Balthazar lead them all in search of an empty booth.

“You come here a lot more than I thought if you know all of the bouncers by name,” Castiel said to him, giving him a nudge with his shoulder.

“Well there is only so much to do in Kansas,” he replied with a grin. “And I do so miss you when we’re not together. I’m just a man trying to sow his wild oats.”

From beside them, Dean let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Shouldn’t you be, uh, sowing Cas’ wild oats?”

Balthazar just laughed and gently herded Castiel into the last available booth. “My dear Cassie has a very open mind, Dean. That’s one of the things I like most about him; his freaky spirit.”

Cas choked on air and turned to stare in horror at his friend, while Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the derogatory implication.

“Balthazar,” he hissed, grabbing the man’s tie and pulling him down. He moved to whisper privately in his ear. “I am going to take great pleasure in killing you.”

Balthazar just straightened himself and his tie before winking at Castiel and saying aloud, “I look forward to it.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited, and hopefully satisfying, next chapter is finally here!

Double dating with his ex-boyfriend, and his ex-boyfriend’s new, much older beau turned out to be much less awkward than Dean had feared. At first, anyway. After Balthazar’s threesome implication, Cas had immediately pulled Balthazar close to him and whispered something in his ear before turning his reddened face back to their table. The first round of drinks was bought by the older man; two shots of tequila with lime and salt for everyone. The first shot had them all cringing, but the second had them slamming their shot glasses down with excited exclamations for the fun to come.

“Damn,” Dean started, shivering as the sourness of the lime lingered in his mouth. “No better way to get a party started than choking down patrón.

Balthazar pointed at him with a grin. “Precisely.”

A waitress in a tiny black dress with a platter of tube shots passed by their table and waved the tray in offering. Dean was about to refuse, especially after two straight shots of tequila, but just as she was finished explaining what each different shot was, a familiar old tune from his childhood burst from the bar’s stereo system. Dean chuckled at first, hearing Run DMC played at such a high class joint. But seconds after the song began, Charlie dove out of her seat.

“Cas!” she cried. “It’s our song!”

“No, no, nooooo,” Cas began, sinking further into the booth and away from Charlie’s grabby hands.

“You have to dance badly to this with me,” she said. “It’s tradition, dude.”

Cas sighed and plucked a tube from the platter. “Yes, your highness,” he muttered before draining the bright purple liquid from the tube. Balthazar picked one for himself, winked at the waitress, and dropped a few bills on her tray.

Charlie grinned and they made their way over to the dance floor. Bright jets of multicolored lights were swirling around excitedly moving bodies, and if it were anyone else Dean would have just let them sink into the crowd. But his eyes stayed right on Cas as he danced with his new best friend. He saw the light, happy smile on his face and his heart swelled at the sight of the young man thrusting and flailing wildly. It reminded him of the day Cas had met Charlie. He thought of the picture Cas had sent of Charlie and her girlfriend kissing his cheeks at midnight, and the way he described them dancing to this song. He had been so happy to let go of his reservations for one night and go wild without fear of judgement.

He could see the flush of exertion on Cas’ skin, the grin on his face, and the long, lovely expanse of his throat as he threw his head back to laugh. Thankfully Dean shook himself out of it before anyone had noticed he was staring. It felt like he had been watching Cas for hours, when really it had only been a few seconds.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, gesturing for the waitress to not leave just yet. “I’ll actually take a couple of those shots too.”

“Which would you like?”

He glanced at the platter, realizing he had paid no attention when she was describing each one. “The, uh, the brown ones. I’ll take two.”

“Two honey jack it is,” she said, handing him the tubes.

After paying for his shots and giving her a generous tip, she thanked them all with a wink and sashayed away to the next booth.

He sat staring at the shots for a few seconds, and Zeke leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked, nodding toward the tubes. He took one of the shots out of Dean’s hand and held it up to his nose before jerking back slightly. “That smells dreadful.”

“Well,” Balthazar said. “The worse it smells, the drunker you’ll get.”

Dean just raised his tube in a mock-toast, “Well, here’s hoping.”

Balthazar raised his tube full of pink liquid in response and they knocked back the shots together, both grimacing afterward.

“So Balthazar,” Zeke started, handing Dean his second shot back. “Have you ever tried Ouzo? The smell alone will have your eyes watering.”

 “Ah, I have fond memories of Ouzo from my time at NYU,” said the older man. He then waved his hand dismissively. “At least I think the memories are fond. They’re a bit fuzzy.”

Zeke laughed. “You should try genuine Greek Ouzo, my friend. Your memories won’t be fuzzy, they will be non-existent.”

Balthazar’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t think it would be wise for a man of my character to find something that would get me even _more_ drunk.”

Dean found himself laughing at Balthazar. Regardless of how wary he was of the older man, he found that he liked him. He vaguely registered the song changing in the background to some dance hit he didn’t really recognize.

“How about El Toro?” Dean suggested.

“El Toro?” Balthazar and Zeke asked at the same time, giving him strange looks.

Dean snorted. “Tequila, terrible stuff.”

“Fancy Spanish tequila?” Balthazar asked.

“No way,” Dean replied. “Crappiest tequila in the business, man. Smells like jet fuel and you can get it for like seven bucks at the liquor store.”

Zeke laughed and Balthazar cringed.

“Sounds like a death sentence,” said the older man.

“Fucking feels like one too, I assure you.” Dean replied with a grin.

Balthazar stood up and straightened his jacket. “Well, I am going to go get myself a real drink now, gentleman. Perhaps a nice scotch. Would you boys like anything?”

Zeke shook his head and Dean just waggled his second shot glass, still full, in response.

After Balthazar walked away, Zeke brushed his cheek with his knuckles and smiled. “Do you mind if I have a smoke, darling?” he asked.

Dean shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Zeke kissed his temple and made his way to the back of the bar, where a smoking area was set up for patrons out back.

When he was alone at the table, he took his second shot and let his eyes drift back to the dance floor. There were dozens of people dancing. The bar was crowded, loud, and lights were constantly flashing, making it difficult to see so far away. But Dean’s eyes settled on Cas immediately, like a beacon, even though he was lost in a sea of strange people. He and Charlie were still swaying and giggling. There was a light sheen of sweat on Cas’ skin, and his hair was wild like part of his dance moves included running his fingers through his own hair. His memory (unhelpfully) supplies him with images of their past; of times when it was _his_ fingers running through Cas’ hair. And he felt guilty. So guilty. He was here with his boyfriend, as was Cas. Being friends with him was something that Dean wanted desperately. He missed Cas, and losing him hadn’t just been losing his boyfriend. It was losing his best friend. There was a chance he could have that again, but only if he could tamp down the unwelcome heartache he was beginning to experience every time he saw his former lover. If he couldn’t control himself, one day he would slip up. He’d slip up and make Cas uncomfortable, hurt Zeke, or anger Balthazar. Or worse, all three.

The song changed again, some upbeat remix of a Bruno Mars song, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint which. He half expected Charlie and Cas to come back, given how reluctant Cas had been to get up and dance in the first place, but the two of them just kept on dancing while Dean watched from the sidelines. He twirled the empty tube in his fingers as he watched, conflicting feelings consuming him so heavily that he didn’t see or hear Balthazar return from the bar.

He jerked back and inhaled sharply when the other man dropped in the seat beside him. He gave Dean a strange look and set a tumbler full of amber liquid on the table.

“This must be strange for you,” Balthazar said.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

Balthazar just raised a single, perfectly manicured eyebrow and cast a quick glance at Cas and Charlie on the dancefloor.

Dean let his gaze fall to the table. “It’s a little weird seeing him,” he admitted. “It’s been a long time though.”

“But has it been long enough?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to see an eerily serious look on Balthazar’s face. Ever since he’d met the man, he hadn’t seen a hint of seriousness in him. He always looked playful and mischievous, but now there was no smirk to light up his face, no mirth in his eyes; just a knowing stare and tight lips. Dean couldn’t find the words to respond, so he just stared until Balthazar plucked the empty tube he was idly turning from his nervous hands.

“I see the way you look at him, Dean.”

Dean tried to find the words to deny it, but none would come. His insides were churning in panic. So he said the only thing he could.

“I’m sorry.”

Finally Balthazar’s stone face softened into something almost akin to understanding. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Dean. I know how easy he is to love, and how hard he is to forget.”

With that, Balthazar pushed his untouched drink over to Dean and left the booth once more, disappearing into the crowd.

Instead of hyperventilating, Dean grabbed the drink and downed it. He hardly finished the last swallow before his boyfriend was sliding back into the booth beside him, smelling like cloves and mint gum. And only seconds later Charlie and Cas made their way back, rumpled and exhausted. Immediately, Charlie began talking to Zeke as if they’d been friends forever. Dean was glad for it, because he couldn’t hold a conversation right now. Not with the roiling in his stomach and the ringing in his ears. He hoped to God the panic wasn’t showing on his face, but his discomfort must have shone through because Cas leaned across the table and put a hand on his arm.

His touch was like fire and he flinched when their skin came into contact. Dean looked up to see Can squinting at him.

‘Are you okay?’ he mouthed at Dean, looking concerned.

Dean just nodded. Castiel frowned like he didn’t believe him and Dean decided he couldn’t sit there anymore.

He nudged Zeke. “Can you let me out, I need to get some air.”

Zeke complied and rubbed an affectionate hand down Dean’s back as he walked away. He made his way across the bar to the smoker’s door. When he got out into the cool night air, he noticed four or five people across the fenced in area that were chatting with each other while dragging on their cigarettes. He walked as far away from them as the small space would allow and leaned against the wooden fence. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Balthazar had caught him staring at Cas, and only seconds after he’d berated himself for doing so. But Balthazar didn’t get angry or jealous like he feared, he almost looked sad. It must be pity he was feeling for Dean. He pitied him for being so obviously, pathetically in love with someone who would never love him back. Not again. He breathed in deeply again, feeling a different sort of tug in his chest. If there was one person in the world he could have talked to, openly and honestly, about his feelings for Cas it would have been his mother. He felt a vague stinging beneath his eyelids, but he blinked it away and let his head fall back against the fence as he concentrated on inhaling and exhaling the smoke-tinted night air.

The door to the smoking area opened, but Dean ignored it in favor of basking in the silence.

“Dean?”

He opened his eyes to see Cas walking toward him, a frown still firmly planted on his face.

“Dean, are you really okay?” He asked.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I, uh….I think I just drank a little too much too quickly,” he lied. “Got a little hot, had to breathe.”

Cas leaned against the fence next to him. “I thought perhaps Balthazar said something to upset you.”

Dean just waved his hand and shook his head, unable to respond. When he looked up, he saw Cas wriggle his nose as the smell of tobacco drifted their way.

“Hate the smell of smoke?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “I’m not around it often. The only person I know that smokes is Balthazar. I don’t allow him to smoke in my apartment, but he does it outside and he still brings a cloud of smoke with him when he comes back in. It’s frustrating.”

“I know that feeling. Zeke smokes cloves and then pops a piece of gum, like it’ll cover it up. He’ll kiss me afterward sometimes and the combination of cloves and mint makes me want to barf.”

Cas looked away and nodded. “Same,” he said quietly. “Yeah, same. Balthazar tries to cover his smoker’s breath with chewing gum and it is…most unpleasant.”

Castiel was fidgeting, and Dean guessed the smell of cigarettes was getting to him.

“How about we head back inside?” He suggested, gesturing for Castiel to lead the way.

“Yes,” Cas responded. “Let us go ruin our livers, not our lungs.”

Dean laughed and walked back to the door alongside him. Friends, he could do, right? No matter what heart wrenching feelings he harbored for the other man, he wanted to always be his friend.

He smiled and bumped shoulders with Cas on the walk back to their booth. “Thanks for checking up on me, man. I appreciate it.”

Cas looked up at him then, with a look of genuine affection. “Of course, Dean. I care about you.”

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I'm out of school and out of the horrible spiral of depression I was in the last few months I'm hoping to update a little more. I'm trying to increase my activity on tumblr again as well. As always I am open to some suggestions and ideas of little things you'd like to see from the characters in the story. I obviously have my plot already planned, but if you're hankerin for a specific scene, you'd like to see happen drop me a line on tumblr and I'll be sure to keep it in mind if it works with my plot!


	15. Chapter 15

****

_‘I care about you’_ his own voice mocked in his head. _‘Yes, Dean, you’re here with your boyfriend and I am here with a man you believe is my boyfriend and I’d just like you to know that I don’t care about them. I care about YOU.’_

Castiel felt like a moron, and he hoped that Dean would just assume he’d meant it as a friend. But by the brief flash of shock that crossed his face, it was doubtful. Castiel avoided Dean’s eyes for the rest of the short walk back to their table. Upon returning he saw a serving tray with five shots of clear liquid and five full size drinks, all equipped with several maraschino cherries, an orange slice, and cute decorative umbrellas.

“Someone let Charlie choose this round, didn’t they?” Castiel asked as soon as he sat down.

“I refuse to apologize for liking cute drinks that taste amazing,” she replied, giving him a flick on the ear.

Dean, though he had only just said he’d drank too much too fast, was the first to reach for a shot and a drink.

“What are they?” he asked Charlie.

“The shot is cherry vodka,” she said, taking her own drinks from the tray. “And the drinks are amaretto sours. I had one for the first time when I was eighteen. Me and my ex-girlfriend Alannah snuck into an Offspring concert at a bar in Kansas City. It was a 21 and over show, but Alannah’s cousin was working the door that night and he let us in. What a great night that was. Now let’s get wasted.”

She raised her shot glass and waited patiently while everyone else at the table grabbed their drinks. One glass clink later everyone was downing their shots with minimal grimacing. The fruity vodka Charlie had chosen went down smooth and the cherry sweetness was almost enough to negate the harshness of the alcohol. And once the shots were gone everyone began sipping on their colorful fruity cocktails and everyone but Balthazar murmured some sort of praise on the delicious flavor. He just downed his like it was nothing more than a simple cup of juice, and then signaled a nearby waitress for another scotch.

And Dean. Well, Dean was staring daggers at the table while he plucked the cherries from his drink and sucked them out from between his fingers. It was mesmerizing watching Dean’s plush lips close around the candy-sweet fruits and Castiel stared as he ate one, two, and then three cherries. He had to pull his gaze away before he had a, uh, _s_ _ituation_  arise beneath the table. When he turned away he saw that he wasn’t the only one appreciating Dean’s involuntary lip service. Ezekiel was sipping slowly from his glass and watching as his boyfriend licked the stray drops of amaretto sour from his lips. Watching Ezekiel watch Dean was like a slap straight to his face. Not only was he being a total perv, but a total asshole as well. Unabashedly staring while the man’s boyfriend was seated right next to him, and Castiel just thanked his lucky stars that no one seemed to catch him. Dean had a boyfriend. He had a boyfriend, and as far as he knew, Castiel had one as well. So Castiel reached for his own tiny green umbrella and stabbed through one of the cherries in his drink with determination.

He turned to Balthazar and held up the tiny morsel. “Would you like my cherry?” he asked with what he hoped was a flirtatious smile.

Balthazar just raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, darling, you know I would.”

The older man delicately grasped at Castiel’s wrist and drew the fruit to his mouth, sucking it gently off the stick and chewing with a self-satisfied smirk.

Castiel grinned at his friend as he heard Charlie quietly mutter _‘get a room’_. He placed the empty umbrella back in his half-empty drink and looked up to see Dean draining the last of his.

He was just about to ask if Dean should be drinking so fast, considering he’d just complained about drinking too much, too quickly just a few minutes before, when three young girls stopped at their table. The young lady in the front had a huge, friendly grin on her face, and her two friends were smiling nervously behind her with their iPhones clutched tightly in their hands.

“E-excuse me,” the girl in front started, looking at Ezekiel. “I don’t mean to bother you, but can we maybe take a picture with you, Mr. Fairbank?”

Ezekiel grinned at them and nodded. “Of course, girls. It would be my pleasure.”

The shortest of the girls came forward and let her eyes hover around the table, clearly wondering which of them to ask to take the picture.

Dean moved forward automatically, as if he’d done this dozens of times (and it was completely likely that he had) and offered a hand to the girl. “I’ll take it, sweetheart.”

“Actually, we were hoping you could be in the pictures too,” she replied with a small smile.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, her face lighting up. “You’re Dean Winchester. You do all of his stunts in Guardians, and I think it’s amazing. I watch all of the bloopers and behind the scenes footage. And I’ve seen all of your t.v. debuts, like NCIS and CSI. I don’t watch them, but when I saw that you had an actor’s credit I just had to see.”

Dean chuckled nervously, clearly not used to the attention. “Well, I’d, uh, be happy to be in the picture with you then.”

“I’ll do it!” Charlie volunteered, holding her hand out to the girl, who gave her the phone immediately.  


The girls rearranged themselves the way they wanted for the pictures and Charlie snapped a few, goading them into doing goofy faces and a Charlie’s Angels pose. Once the pictures were taken the girls got a few things signed and then made their way back into the club with heavy thanks and praise for Dean and Ezekiel.

“We should all dance!” Charlie said excitedly. “It is a dance club after all, and Castiel and I are the only ones who have danced tonight.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Dean replied, pointing to the large screen televisions over the bar that were playing basketball games. “It’s a dance club _and_ sports lounge.”

Charlie stood and put her hands on her hips. “Are you gonna get up and dance, Winchester, or am I gonna have to make you?”

Dean grinned at her and nudged his boyfriend. “Come on, Zeke, let’s indulge the lady.” Ezekiel stood from the booth and held a hand to Dean, who rose from his seat as well.

“You coming, Cas?” Dean asked, a crooked grin on his expectant face.

Castiel sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

Dean’s grin grew as he shook his head, and behind him he saw Charlie swaying slightly and make ridiculous come hither motions at him. Castiel just rolled his eyes and stood to join his friend. There was a lone shot glass still sitting full and untouched on the table, so Castiel leaned over and drained it in one quick gulp.

“Aren’t you coming?” He asked Balthazar as the man sat, unmoving with a drink still in his hand.

Charlie spoke up behind him. “Come on Monsieur Augustin, it’s time for you to get up and show everyone how the French do it.”

“Red, I am two decades older than everyone at this table, and probably everyone on that dance floor. Plus, as a true Frenchman I prefer all my dancing to be done naked in my bed with a hot, young thing.” He winked at Castiel then, who burned with embarrassment as he heard Dean awkwardly clear his throat and Ezekiel chuckle. “Have fun, children.”

Charlie gestured to Balthazar that she was watching him, unhappy that he’d wussed out of dancing, but then dragged the three men to the pile of bodies moving rhythmically to a Kylie Minogue song. It took them some time to get situated in their group, but after a few minutes Charlie and Castiel were comfortably dancing side-by-side with Dean and Ezekiel, occasionally looking over to laugh at one another or goad each other into doing horrible dorky dad dance moves. Somehow, in the midst of Charlie and Ezekiel doing The Sprinkler, they had moved around enough that Castiel was dancing primarily with Dean as they watched the other two make fools of themselves and occasionally knock into other dancers. Charlie, ever the persuasive one, had even gotten several other people to join her and Ezekiel in doing the choreographed train dance when Quad City DJs played. Although, Castiel would swear by some of the googoo eyes being made at Ezekiel that his celebrity status was probably the real deciding factor for the other dancers.

Dean laughed at his boyfriend and Charlie while swaying happily with Castiel. Their eyes would meet occasionally and they’d grin at each other before looking away or glancing back at their ridiculous counterparts. It wasn’t awkward, and for that Castiel was very glad. The music began to change again and the train dance stopped, causing the crowd to fill out around them once more. Castiel could still see Ezekiel where he’d been pushed to the other side of the dance floor, along with the top of Charlie’s fiery red hair where she continued to dance with him. Techno music was blaring through the speakers, along with chants of TGIF that felt achingly familiar but he just could not place them. Multicolored lights were flashing above them, and instead of concentrating on the lyrics, Castiel just gave himself away to the heavy _uhn-tiss_ beat of the remixed song. Dean seemed to follow his lead and they danced happily, spinning around while the words to the song warbled unheard in the background. But soon enough the lyrics grew louder and his heart nearly stopped.

_Yeah we danced on tabletops_

_And we took too many shots_

_Think we kissed but I forgot_

_Last Friday Night_

He froze, and it must have hit Dean at the exact same moment because he stopped moving and looked at Castiel. He smiled, but it was a sad smile and Castiel knew his face must look the same. They stood there a few moments while people swirled joyously around them, in a moment of heartbreaking familiarity that neither of them seemed to know how to handle. But finally he saw something change in Dean’s face; a finality, an eagerness, and perhaps an unwillingness to let the moment pass them by. He pulled himself up straight in front of Castiel and smiled, holding both of his hands out in front of him. Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously but placed his hands in Dean’s anyway, because regardless of what he was up to, he knew that he could trust Dean. Although it was a simple gesture, he was not expecting Dean to tug his arms up around his neck and then place his own hands on Castiel’s hips; a perfect mirror of how they’d danced to this song at Benny’s frathouse years ago. They started slow, just a slight sway to the beat, but as the song picked up so did their pace. Soon they were laughing and spinning without a care, shimmying against each other to the sound of Katy Perry’s drunken escapades. He hated to admit it, but it was the best he’d felt in years being this close to Dean. The man’s heart might belong to another, but he was absolutely sure he’d never love someone like he loved Dean.

_This Friday night, do it all again_

_This Friday night, do it all again_

_This Friday Night_

Dean spun him around and leaned in close to him from behind. “I would, you know.”

Castiel glanced back at him over his shoulder. “What?”

“I would,” Dean repeated, and then spun him back around. He pressed their bodies close together and touched his forehead to Castiel’s before continuing. “Do it all again, Cas. I would do it all over again, if I could.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief mention of recreational drug use (marijuana) in this chapter, but it's only mentioned in passing and none of the written characters are the ones using it.

Those words spilling from Dean’s lips were like a splash of frigid water to his face.

Except, no, there was _actually_ frigid water suddenly splashing all over him, Dean, and everyone else in the vicinity as the sprinkler system on the club’s ceiling was mysteriously activated. Everyone froze during the first few seconds of the surprise shower, but in no time it turned into hysteria. A slew of shouting, outraged patrons all tried to escape the building at once, causing Castiel to be separated from Dean by a few hard budges from strangers’ shoulders and elbows. He could hardly see with the still-pouring water, and his wet bangs hanging low in his face, but through the haze he could barely make out Dean with both hands folded on top of his head and a frustrated grimace on his face. He had to know what this meant; that declaration, the look of turmoil on his face.

Before he could push his way back to Dean, a sopping wet Charlie slid dangerously to his side and sagged against him.

“What is happening?” He shouted to her over the commotion.

She rolled her eyes and dragged him toward the exit by his sleeve. “Some dingbat tried to smoke a giant blunt right below one of the smoke detectors,” she yelled back.

“Please tell me it was not _our_ dingbat,” he said when he noticed that Balthazar was nowhere to be seen.

He saw Charlie throw back her head and cackle, but then shake her head. When they got toward the door, she elbowed their way through the crowd and onto the sidewalk outside. It was a warm summer evening, but his skin was still beginning to prickle as a result of being soaked to the bone in cold water, so they tried to locate their party as quickly as possible.

When they found Balthazar around the corner, he was leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette in his mouth and one foot propped on the wall behind him, looking for all the world like he _meant_ to be outside a club in a soaking wet Armani suit.

“How is it,” Charlie started, “That every other person here looks like a dog that got a bath against their will, but you look like you’re in a cologne commercial?”

“Magic,” he replied as he exhaled a plume of smoke. He narrowed his eyes in concern, however, when he saw that Castiel was beginning to shiver. “It’s July in Kansas, darling, why are you shivering?”

Castiel just wrapped his arms around himself as tightly as he could. “That water was cold, Balthazar. I’m sure I’ll be fine soon.”

Balthazar just opened his arms wide. “Come give us a hug, I’ll keep you warm.”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but stepped forward into his friend’s arms anyway. Balthazar stripped off his suit jack and draped it over his shoulders as well, and though Balthazar was just as soaked as he was, the shared body heat was comforting. Castiel closed his eyes and leaned into the older man’s neck, ignoring the occasional passing of other people fleeing the flooded building. But he did tense when a pair of footsteps stopped near them, fully anticipating the voices that would come along with them.

“There you all are,” Ezekiel declared happily. When Castiel peeked up from Balthazar’s shoulder he noticed that somehow Ezekiel had remained blissfully dry. And also, that Dean was doing his best to not make eye contact. At least that answered his question from before, about what this was all supposed to mean. With a sigh, Castiel resigned himself to the knowledge that Dean’s previous words only meant that he was drunk and being loose with his words, because the regret was written all over his body language.

Ignorant to his feelings of defeat, Charlie began gesturing wildly to Ezekiel’s entire body. “No fair!” She shouted. “How the hell are you still dry after all that?”

Ezekiel chuckled. “Just my luck, it happened the moment I stepped outside to have another smoke.”

When the man stepped closer to Dean, presumably to wrap himself around his boyfriend, Dean stepped back and waved a hand at himself.

“I don’t want to ruin your suit, Zeke, I’m soaked,” he said quietly.

Ezekiel just shrugged and tugged Dean into his side. “Perhaps we can all find a nice diner willing to serve this ragtag group of mostly-wet lumps,” he teased. He turned to plant a kiss on Dean’s temple, but was distracted when Dean’s phone beeped loudly from within his pocket. Dean immediately dug it out and peered at the screen with a frown.

Castiel could see that Ezekiel was eager to continue their night, looking to each of them for confirmation of plans, and Charlie looked about ready to agree.

“I’m actually not feeling very well,” Castiel heard himself blurt out. Dean’s immediately snapped up to meet his but Castiel only held them for a moment before turning back to face Balthazar. “I’d kind of like to go home now, please.”

Charlie snuck him a calculated look, one that promised a good talking to later, and started nodding herself. “I do sort of want to get out of this wet dress. This material weighs a ton when it’s wet,” she said, picking at the fabric clinging to her abdomen.

Ezekiel shrugged in resignation and tugged Dean close to him once again. “Come on, love, lets see if there’s anywhere on this strip where we can get a good caramel macchiato.” Dean nodded, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Goodbye, boys,” Balthazar said as he herded Castiel in the direction of the diner where they parked their car.

Dean threw a small wave their way as he let Ezekiel lead him in the opposite direction, up the downtown strip and toward all the shops. Castiel knew this was his last time seeing Dean before he left for California and then, inevitably, London again.

“Have a safe trip home, Dean,” He said, just loud enough for the other man to still hear.

Dean looked back, locking eyes with him once more. “See ya around, Cas.”

During the short walk back to the diner, they decided that Charlie was burdened with driving them all home. Balthazar had much more to drink than the two of them, and Castiel was just plain out of sorts.

“So,” Charlie started as they reached the car. “Wanna talk about it?”

Both she and Balthazar looked at him expectantly.

Castiel shook his head. “Nope.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “Okay, onward to our humble abode then.”

Once they were all in the car, Castiel in the front passenger’s seat and Balthazar nodding off in the back, Castiel rested his forehead on the cool window. He watched as the scenery flew by the window and his drunken brain couldn’t help but wonder…when the hell had Dean started drinking _caramel macchiatos?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shut up Cas, I like caramel macchiatos
> 
> I was going to make this chapter much longer, but I realized that my next key plot point required a change in POV and I don't like doing that mid chapter, so I just made this one a little shorter and I'll be updating again tomorrow with another new one! :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER. ITS A DOOZY.  
> -LOTS of mentions of hard drugs. None of the characters are graphically DOING drugs, but they are mentioned in a backstory a lotttt. So be aware of that.  
> -Some violence but nothing gory. (I do allude to the fact that a background character's life may be in danger, if you think that'll squick you just scroll to the end notes before reading cause I'll explain it there)  
> -And non-descriptive references to past sexual abuse. (Will also explain further in end notes)
> 
> ITS A CRAZY CHAPTER GUYS.

Dean couldn’t decide if he was upset or grateful that the club sprinklers went off when they did. The song, Cas’ carefree dancing, the drinks; it was all just so familiar and he felt so young and happy. In that moment he just had to tell Cas, had to tell him that he’d do it all over again if it meant he could take back the three years he’d spent without him. Dean went cold when he saw the expression on Cas’ face after he said it, and it had nothing to do with the freezing water suddenly spouting from above. Cas just looked so shocked, almost terrified, and then a group of screaming bar folk separated them.

Zeke found him moments later where he was standing with his hands folded on his head, trying to calm himself down with deep, slow breaths. Zeke was still dry somehow, and he wanted to find the others and continue their night out, so they went outside in search of them despite the knot in Dean’s stomach. Dean knew that he had screwed up badly when he turned the corner to find Cas wrapped in his boyfriend’s jacket and his face curled intimately into Balthazar’s neck. Of course that’s where he was going to retreat to after Dean had said just about the creepiest thing he possibly could to him. So he kept his eyes down, hardly listening as Zeke and Charlie chatted away, and he tried to beg off on account of his wet clothes when Zeke pulled him close. His boyfriend was eager to keep the night going, but the thought of continuing the night had his panic levels rising.

He was momentarily interrupted by his inner turmoil by a loud ping and the heavy vibration of his phone alerting him that he had a text message. He scooted away and pulled the device out, frowning when it turned out to be an unknown number on the screen.

**_[2125559177: We need to talk]_ **

He didn’t recognize the area code, so he just ignored it and stashed the phone back in his pocket and looked up when he heard Cas say he wanted to go home. He looked upset, on-edge, and cold, so they all separated for the night. And although Cas did throw him one final goodbye – _“Have a safe trip home, Dean”_ — Dean could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. He could only hope that he hadn’t ruined things for good.  Zeke had declared that they were off to find macchiatos and Dean smiled and agreed although he was already trying to come up with excuses to not order the sugary confection (he’s not thirsty, his stomach hurts, his teeth are feeling sensitive). As they walked up and down the downtown strip, they never ended up finding a good coffee place, so instead they made their way back to the diner where they parked the car. He was feeling a bit hungry so they decided to grab a bite inside. After ordering coffee and pie for each of them, Zeke excused himself to the restroom and Dean pulled out his phone once again. He brought up google and searched the 212 area code, finding it to be New York. He occasionally worked with some folks from New York, but work contacts would always call instead of text, and never this late at night. So he shot off a reply, telling the sender they had the wrong number. Zeke returned to the table just as the waitress was dropping off their bounty. After they finished, Zeke took their bill up to the register and Dean’s phone beeped again. He pulled it out, expecting to see an apology from the wrong number, but he was wrong

**_[2125559177: Not a wrong number, Winchester. Meet me at the Main Street Diner in Topeka tomorrow at noon. Come alone.]_ **

Dean frowned.

 ** _[Who is this?]_** He texted back.

**_[2125559177: You’ll know me when you see me. I’m not in a safe place, I can no longer talk. Meet me tomorrow, Dean. Noon. Don’t be late.]_ **

**_[I’m not taking orders from some stranger.]_ **

Dean scoffed. Who the fuck was this? He put his phone back in his pocket when Zeke returned to their table and he threw his boyfriend the keys.

“You mind driving home?” Dean asked. Zeke just nodded and kissed his temple. When they were safely strapped into the car, Dean pulled out his phone. The stranger never replied so Dean tried again.

**_[Either tell me who you are or I’m not coming.]_ **

**_[Hello?]_ **

He expected at least one more reply during the drive, but he got nothing. There was only the sounds of the engine and Zeke’s light humming along with the radio. He definitely wasn’t going to go and meet some anonymous creep the next day, especially not by himself. He wondered if maybe he should tell someone; Zeke, his dad, or maybe Sam. The person did say they weren’t safe, but safe from what? He tried to put it out of his mind, and managed to get a fitful night’s sleep. He dreamt that he went to the diner and the nameless person was Cas. They sat at a table and Cas told him that he should go back to California and never come back, that he never wanted to see him again. It was like the night they broke up all over again and Dean could feel himself beginning to panic in his dream. He startled awake and reached out, only to find that Zeke was already gone from bed.

Although he knew that it wasn’t Cas, he’d been standing right there when he got the text message, Dean knew as soon as he woke up that he was going to go to that damn diner. He scrubbed at his face with his palms and wandered into the small sitting area of their hotel. Zeke was reading the paper in his pajamas and breaking off bits of a blueberry muffin. He looked up at Dean and smiled when he heard him enter.

“Good morning,” he said. “You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you.”

Dean sat next to his boyfriend and leaned into his shoulder. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, it was nearly 10 so he needed to hurry. It was a long drive to Topeka and he wanted to be on time.

“Would you,” he started and then looked away. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Do you mind if I, maybe, take the car out and spend some time alone today?”

Zeke frowned. “Is something wrong?”

Dean scrunched up his face. He didn’t like lying to Zeke, but the stranger said to come alone and he wasn’t about to let his boyfriend come along on what was probably a really stupid, dangerous decision.

“I just, you know, I had some really terrible dreams last night. I just want to go out and clear my head awhile. I’m just feeling really overwhelmed by everything.”

Zeke’s expression softened. “Of course. I should probably check in with everyone back on set anyway. And my agent has been wanting to talk about that Spiderman reboot with me for weeks. You’ll call me if you need me?”

Dean nodded. “Of course I will. I’ll probably just go to the park and walk around, maybe go see my dad.”

Zeke nodded and turned back to his paper. Dean hurried into the shower for a quick rinse and then dressed in some faded jeans and a black tee. He knew that he wasn’t exactly _famous_. Zeke was recognized on the street almost everywhere they went, but last night at the club was one of the first times he had been recognized along with him. Since he had no idea who he was meeting, or how it would turn out, he grabbed a baseball cap and sunglasses just to be safe.

He kissed Zeke hard one his way out, chasing the flavor of blueberry lingering on his tongue.

“Feel better, darling,” His boyfriend said, and gave him one last peck on the corner of the mouth. He couldn’t help but think that Zeke looked the slightest bit suspicious as he walked out the door, but his curiosity made him soldier on. The drive was nearly an hour and a half, and probably would have been longer if he hadn’t been speeding the whole way. He made it a few minutes before noon and sat in the parking lot trying to psych himself up for whatever was waiting for him inside. It was a public place, so he sincerely doubted anything would happen. Even if it did, he wasn’t exactly helpless. He was confident he could handle himself in a fight, but since he lacked any real enemies it didn’t feel like that’s what was coming. And he had Sherriff Mills number on hand so he could just keep his phone open and close to him at all times to be safe. At noon on the dot, he left the car and walked into the diner with the hat and sunglasses firmly in place. There were only about six tables occupied and he scanned each one to find his mystery companion.

There was an old couple having lunch together, a much younger couple and their baby, a couple of tables full of teenagers, and one with a man crouched miserably over a steaming cup of coffee. No one stood out at first, but as he stepped closer to the man with the coffee, he clenched his fists in furious recognition.

He said Dean would know him when he saw him. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

He was once a stout, muscled young man with the cocky swagger that comes with a life full of privilege. The person Dean saw now was a husk of what he once was. His clothes hung off his much thinner frame, and instead of pressed and clean and expensive like they once were, now they were torn and obviously stained. When he finally looked up from his coffee, Dean saw that his skin was pale, unhealthy, and scarred in places. He couldn’t tell if the circles under the man’s eyes were from drugs, distress, or sleeplessness; maybe all three. But despite the fact that he looked like he’d clearly been through hell, Dean was having trouble feeling sorry for him. Because it’s difficult to feel sorry for someone you hate.

Against his better judgment, Dean still sat down at the opposite side of the booth. There had to have been a reason he asked him to come, so he was going to get down to it and then leave. He took off his sunglasses and tossed them onto the table. The smell of burnt rubber singed his nostrils, but he ignored it and waited.

“I see the years have been as kind to you as they’ve been cruel to me, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that, Crowley.”

Crowley grimaced. “I suppose I deserve that.”

“And more,” Dean replied. “What do you want?”

“Well, you want that bitch in prison just as much as I do, right?” Crowley retorted.

Dean’s face fell. “Excuse me?”

“Cher Markova,” Crowley said. “I can help.”

Dean could feel his face heating up at her mention. “What the fuck do you know about that?”

Crowley drained what was left of his coffee and signaled the waitress for a refill and a cup for Dean. “I know that she’s about to get away with what she did to your mother. And a lot more than that. She’s trading information, right? She and her cousins are going to get away with little more than a slap on the wrist.”

“Her cousins?” Dean repeated.

Before Crowley could respond, their waitress came by and set a steaming cup in front of Dean and refilled Crowley’s. After making sure they didn’t want to order food, she walked away and Dean turned his attention back to the man before him.

“Perhaps I should start from the beginning,” Crowley said.

Dean waved a hand at him as an okay to start speaking and then leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Crowley took a deep breath and began. “I’ve been an addict since long before you met me, Dean. Thanks to my father’s lack of attention and my near-unlimited supply of cash, I’ve been a coke fiend since I was seventeen. I was able to hide it and stay pretty healthy because I had my father’s money and insurance to take care of me. After what happened with Castiel—” Dean slammed his fist on the table, cutting him off and splashing coffee all over the tabletop. He was not going to try and minimize what he’d done to Castiel just for the sake of his own sob story.

Several of the other diners and one of the waitresses jumped at the sudden outburst as well, but Dean ignored them. “You mean after you tried to assault him? After you tried to put your filthy hands on him without his permission?”

Crowley bowed his head with a wince. “I’m well aware that what I did was wrong, and despicable, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, a self-aware pile of shit is still a pile of shit no matter how you try to present it.”

Crowley just grimaced and continued. “Afterward, after I-I assaulted him, I spiraled out of control. About a year later, this new group of dealers showed up in Kansas pumping out drugs that were pretty hard to get around here up until then.”

“The Demon Warriors?” Dean asked. Just the thought of this messed up little drug-ring had Dean seeing red.

Crowley nodded. “Kansas isn’t really a smorgasbord of party drugs, so they got popular really quickly in the groups I ran with. I got stopped last October with 4 grams of cocaine on me, and the only reason I didn’t go to jail was because my uncle is a cop and my father has money, and he was worried about his reputation. I was lucky to get the charge dismissed, but after that my father cut me off completely. But I was still an addict and I still needed the drugs, so I started doing favors for the Warriors; selling drugs, making them, fucking over people who owed them money. I’ve stolen for the Warriors, I’ve hurt people for them. And when my conscience got the better of me and I tried to get out, I bled for them,” he said, touching a finger to an angry red scar on his left cheek. Cher Markova owns me, Dean.”

When Dean didn’t say anything, Crowley continued. “She doesn’t trust anyone that works for her, except her bodyguards. That’s because they’re her family; her cousins, Eric and Todd. They’ve been watching my every move for almost a year. I have eyes on me all the time, even when I’m alone; although I am almost never alone. She put a tracker on my phone, just like she does all her people. Eric has become somewhat of a handler for me, never lets me out of his sight. I live my entire life in this decrepit old cookhouse, making meth and getting my ass kicked for even looking at someone the wrong way. And before you say anything, I know that this is the life I deserve.”

“How’d you manage to get here then?” Dean asked. “Or even send me a text message for that matter?”

Crowley reached into his pocket and produced an old, black flip phone. “I stole this three days ago from one of our buyers. Something is happening, Dean, and I had to make a move. I’m willing to bet you don’t know much about making methamphetamines?”

Dean just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, lets just say it is a very sensitive recipe. A pinch of the wrong stuff at the wrong time and you’ve got phosphine gas. That shit can kill you if you breathe it in, even in small quantities, that’s why you’re supposed to wear a mask when you’re making it. But Cher, she and her people never gave me the right kind of protective wear because they were afraid of my rebellion. They made sure I’d do the job right by ensuring I couldn’t hurt them without hurting myself. She was right for a while, but being under her thumb so long was enough to make me care a lot less about my own safety. This morning I was cooking and Eric was sitting at the table supervising me like he always does, reading his stupid fucking car magazines. I wore two shirts on purpose, stripped the first one off, and threw it on the counter innocently enough. I waited until he was turned the other way, grabbed a glass beaker and smashed it over his head. He wasn’t knocked out, he’s a big guy and I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s been hit over the head, but he went down. So I grabbed my shirt and stuffed it over my face, tipped the red phosphorus into the pan and bolted.”

“You fucking killed a guy?” Dean hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was looking.

Crowley chuckled darkly. “Maybe. Probably not. I left the back door open when I ran and I called 911 as soon as I was outside. I’m sure he made it. But if he didn’t, the world is short one more scumbag.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. This was insane. “I’m going to go ahead and pretend you didn’t tell me that, because I do not want to be an accessory to whatever game you’re playing.”

“It’s not a game, Dean,” Crowley insisted.

“Why are you telling me all of this then? And what does your shitty history have to do with me and my family?”

“Cher is going to turn in almost everyone that works under her. Everyone but her cousins and her best people. I heard them talking about it through the vents in the house. She’s refusing to work with local police because waiting for the DEA is giving her guys time to clean house. She’s making sure the best distributors and cooks get relocated before the bust so she can build up again after she’s out of county lock-up. She’s ruthless, Dean. She’ll do anything to not go to prison because she has a lot of enemies there.”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell the cops her people are fleeing? They’ll never listen to me, they made that very clear when they told us they were giving her a deal.”

“No,” Crowley replied, and then looked Dean straight in the eye. “I have all the same information she does. I’ve learned things about them in the last two years that could put them all away for a long time and I can give it to you. She’ll have no leverage left to bargain her way out. Even if she’d have gotten charged for your mother’s accident, she’d have been in prison a year at most. I know things that could put her away for the rest of her life, Dean.”

“They’re going to ask where I got it, Crowley, how I know all this stuff.”

“I know. That’s why I’m coming with you.”

“That’s a one-way ticket to jail for you, why would you do that?”

Crowley toyed with the handle of his mug for a moment before smiling a sad, self-deprecating smile. “I’m starting to think maybe a little time locked up would do me some good. Can’t be any worse than where I’ve been. Plus, I’m sure my sentence will be lighter than whatever I’d have gotten when Cher turned me in, so I can’t say I’m not getting anything out of it. ”

He hated Crowley. He hated what he did to Cas, and he hoped his ex-lover would forgive him for agreeing, but there was never any doubt he was going to accept Crowley’s help if it meant getting justice for his mother.

“Okay.”

 “Okay?” Crowley repeated.

Dean nodded. “I want her locked up for what she did to my mother. That’s what she deserves. She took her away from me, away from my family, like she was nothing and she should be punished for it. I truly believe that. And I am grateful to you for coming forward and helping me. But I want you to know before I use any of this information, that this does not erase what you did to Cas. Not even a little. I can’t put words in his mouth for him, but I know that still, after all this is over, I will not forgive you for that.”

Crowley laughed humorlessly. “I’m not doing this to be forgiven, Dean. Like I said, it’s not like I’m getting nothing out of this. And I’m sure this isn’t worth much now, or anything really, but I am sorry about what I did to your boyfriend. To Castiel. I was a bad guy. I _am_ a bad guy. But despite what happens to me, I know that this is right. And I’ve gotta start somewhere.”

He didn’t bother correcting Crowley, and explaining that he and Cas were no longer together. He and Crowley weren’t going to build a friendship and he didn’t need to know the details of Dean’s personal life in order to proceed. So instead of responding, Dean reached for his phone. Sheriff Mills’ number was already set up on screen in case he had to make a hasty call, so he pushed send, pressed the phone to his ear, and prayed that Sheriff Mills was in her office.

It rang twice before the other line picked up. “Sheriff Mills, Shawnee County Police Department, how can I help you?”

“Sheriff Mills, it’s Dean Winchester. I need to see you as soon as possible.”

“Dean, if this is about—”

“It is,” he cut her off. “And I need you to hear it in person. Can I come to your office?”

She sighed heavily. “Sure, Dean. Make it quick, I have a meeting at 3:30.”

“I’ll be there soon,” he finished and hung up. He quickly scrolled through his contact list and pressed another number.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice answered.

“Sammy, I need you to meet me at the police station right now,” he said.

Crowley frowned at him and waved him off.

“Why Dean, what’s going on?” Sam asked, his voice beginning to raise in panic. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he started. Then he sighed. “Well, sort of, but nothing you’re thinking. I just, I need you there for legal….advice. Or something. Just come, will ya?”

“Uh,” Sam hesitated. “Okay, I guess. I’m leaving Dad’s house now.”

“Bring him,” Dean said. “He should be there too. I’ll see you soon.”

Dean hung up and slid his phone into his pocket. He dug out a few bills to leave on the table and stood. “You ready?” He asked Crowley.

Crowley hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering over his nearly empty coffee cup. Dean could see the slight tremor of his fingers, whether it was from fear or withdrawal, he didn’t know. Eventually Crowley took a deep breath and stood.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. “Lets go get the bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you scrolled from the beginning notes: Okay, so the life that may/may not be in danger is basically a drug ring cronie that was in the house when someone purposely mixed some poisonous chemicals wrong so they could get away. If you've seen Breaking Bad, it's like when Walter White smoked those guys out on the first episode. I don't mention explicitly whether or not the guy survives in the story, but in my writers reality for this story he does not die, emergency services gets there in time, he's just laid up in the hospital and then, eventually, jail. And for the sexual abuse reference, what happened to Cas at his New Years Party in the first story is mentioned in this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> As with all the chapters, I took some creative liberties with how the law/making drugs works. I am neither a policeman or a drug maker, so I did what I could with google and Breaking Bad (lol)


	18. Chapter 18

Jody Mills sat behind her desk, speechless, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Sam and Dean Winchester were standing near her closed office door, looking at her expectantly. John Winchester was sitting in one of her visitor’s chairs, frowning at the strange man sitting beside him, clearly still trying to absorb everything that had happened in the last ten minutes. When he first arrived at the station, he had been demanding to know why Dean dragged him there, but the second Dean had uttered the words _‘We got her, dad’_ , John had gone quiet. And what this new guy, Fergus Crowley, was offering seemed way too good to be true.

She leaned forward, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “So let me get this straight,” she started. “You would like to turn yourself in, and trade information about Cher Markova and The Demon Warriors, and in return you want…nothing?”

The man shifted in his seat and nervously ran his tongue over his top teeth. “Well, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at shaving a little time off my punishment or anything, but ultimately, yes. 

“And you have proof?” She asked. “If Ms. Markova implicates you in any crimes as you say she will, it will be your word against hers. I don’t mean to frighten you, but she has a very good lawyer, Mr. Crowley.”

Fergus just scoffed. “Of course she does. You think this is the first time he’s helped her get away with murder? Why do you think she left New York and restarted her business in Kansas, the Midwest fuck-all? And how do you think she’s been keeping contact with her people outside?”

Jody straightened in her seat. “Her lawyer is in on it?”

“Yes,” Fergus responded. “And before you ask, yes I can prove it. The house I told you about, you should have your people check it once it’s been cleared. I hid my cell phone, the one with the tracker, in the vent in the upstairs bathroom. I have photographs, audio, and video. I recorded everything when that rat bastard came to tell Eric and Todd how to proceed while Cher was locked up.” He dug around in his pocket for a moment and produced an old black flip phone. “There are some photos and videos on there as well, but only from the last few days.”

Jody nodded and opened her desk to grab a plastic glove and evidence bag. After sealing the phone up properly, she looked back at Fergus.

“Okay, Mr. Crowley,” she said. “We’re going to put you in an interview room for now while we take an official statement for you. Would you like to call an attorney?”

Crowley glanced over to where Sam and Dean stood. “Can’t, uh, Jolly Green over there supervise or whatever?”

“I’m only first-year law,” Sam replied flatly. “And my focus is environmental law. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure there would be a conflict of interest here.”

Crowley huffed. “I guess I’ll take some of that free counsel you cops are always so keen to offer.”

Jody reached for the comm button on her phone. “Lacy, will you please call the public defender’s office and arrange for someone from assisted counseling to come in? And please send an available deputy to my office.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the short, quick reply. 

After a few seconds, the door to the office opened and a young black deputy entered. 

“Officer Chase,” she greeted, and the young man nodded in return. “Please escort Mr. Crowley to an interview room, and when his lawyer arrives I’d like you to take his official statement about Cher Markova.”

She handed over the file she had open on the case and the notes she’d taken while Crowley was telling the short version only minutes ago. 

“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Officer Chase replied. He then gestured for Crowley to follow him. “This way, sir.”

Once the door shut behind them, and it was just the Winchesters left in her office, John finally spoke. 

“So, you got her, right?” he asked quietly.

Sam and Dean both looked at her apprehensively. 

“Assuming that the evidence in Fergus Crowley’s phone is as incriminating as he says, then yes, Cher Markova will be going to prison. For a very long time.”

John let out a deep, shuddering breath and his entire body visibly relaxed. Sam and Dean both stepped forward; Sam grasping at his father’s shoulder, and Dean falling into Crowley’s recently vacated seat. 

Dean hesitated a moment before speaking. “Do you think that, maybe, you could get Crowley transferred out of Kansas somewhere for his sentence?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Sam chimed in. “If she’s got people everywhere outside, it would stand to reason that she’s probably got a few inside too.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied. And with another hard look at Dean, she continued. “I do have to ask, Dean. You obviously have a history with Fergus Crowley. Can you tell me about it?”

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, and glanced quickly at his father and Sam. If Jody hadn’t had years of experience looking at people’s body language, she would have missed the subtle shake of Sam’s head at Dean.

“Yeah, I met him a few years ago,” Dean finally said. 

“Dean,” Sam hissed.

Jody looked back and forth between the Winchester brothers, as did John with a look of confusion. 

“It’s fine, Sam,” Dean assured. Sam just rolled his eyes at his brother. “I met Crowley when I was 20. I used to party in the woods in Junction City when I was younger and—”

“You did _what_ ,” John interrupted, a frown etched on his face. 

Dean winced apologetically at his father, but continued. “Crowley showed up one day, started causing trouble and I told him to get lost. A few weeks later he showed up again with the cops and there was a scuffle before we all ran like hell.”

Jody leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She knew that Dean was leaving out a few important details. For example, that it wasn’t just any party in the woods, but a group of juveniles that had been drag racing in secret for years until the police got a tip about the get-togethers a few years back. Her precinct hadn’t been the one to get the call, obviously, but it was a huge story passed along the grapevine for months after the failed raid. What was supposed to be one of the biggest arrests in Junction City that year turned out to be a total flop, and that sort of story travelled among cops. At least now she knew why Dean wasn't very forthcoming about his history with Crowley.

Judging from the look on John Winchester’s face, he knew exactly what sort of parties were really happening in those woods as well.

“Is that all?” she asked Dean.

Before Dean could answer, Sam spoke up once more. “It’s all the information needed to answer how he met Crowley. I can corroborate as a witness.”

John now turned his disbelieving eyes on Sam. “Are you kidding me?”

Both Winchester boys had the good sense to look sheepish. Before Sam could try and explain, his phone began to ring and he excused himself out to the hall to answer. 

“Well, I believe your brother is right, Dean.” Jody said. “That is all the information I require, and I’m sure Mr. Crowley will attest to your statement as well. The next few days will be crucial, but if everything goes well this will all be over in about a week.” She turned toward John. “I am truly sorry for everything that happened before we got here, but I am glad that this is where we finally arrived. I’m sure that your family has a lot to discuss now, and I am afraid I have a meeting to run off to soon, so I must say goodbye for now.”

Sam, who had slipped back in a few seconds before, spoke once again. “Good, because we have to get to the hospital,” he said. John and Dean both looked at him, confused. Sam just grinned. “We have a baby on the way!”

Both Dean and John’s eyes bulged in panic and they hopped from their seats immediately. It was a blur of motion after that; the three enormous Winchester men rushing out of the police station as fast as they could. When they were finally gone, she shut her office door and dropped back into her seat tiredly. With no time to waste before her meeting, she picked up her phone and dialed Victor Henriksen, the DEA agent who was supposed to work with Cher. 

“Henriksen,” he answered in a short, clipped voice.

“Victor, it’s Jody.”

“Sheriff Mills, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Well, Vic, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news,” she said.

“Aw hell,” he responded. She could hear the resignation in his voice. “Give me the bad news first”

“Well,” she started. “You’re going to have to toss all your negotiation contracts for Cher Markova.”

She heard a loud sigh and then a string of muffled curses, like he’d covered the mouthpiece of his phone in order to shout expletives. She chuckled to herself, almost feeling bad that she was messing with him. 

“So,” he said a few seconds later. “You said something about good news?”

“Yeah, I did. You’re tossing those contracts for Markova because we have a new witness. One who can prove that Cher isn’t just a dealer, Vic. She’s the ringleader. And we got her.”

Victor was silent for so long that Jody was afraid the call was disconnected, but finally he spoke again.

“If you’re lying to me right now, Jody, I swear to god—”

“I’m not lying, Victor. We still have to process the evidence, but it’s looking good.”

He laughed. “Screw you for messin’ with my head, woman, but that is some very good news.”

“I’m glad you agree,” she said. “I have to get to a meeting, but I’ll send everything to your office once it’s been processed.”

“Thanks, Jody,” Victor said. “I’ll be there in two days and we can finally put these Demon Warriors to rest.”

She hung up and grinned to herself. _Damn right._

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baby!

Dean realized that he probably broke several laws in his haste to get to the hospital, but Jo was having her baby! He had resigned himself to missing the birth because that little one was being so stubborn, but Ash had called Sam in a panic after trying Dean’s phone and going straight to voicemail. Sam and his father were a few cars behind him, no doubt breaking a few laws of their own. He made sure to use his phone’s speech-to-text function to tell Zeke the news and asked if he wanted to come up to the hospital. He didn’t know Jo very well, but Dean knew he couldn’t just leave him out of the loop. He got a text back several minutes later saying to pass on his congratulations, but he didn’t want to intrude on such a personal family matter. Besides, he also wanted to check in with the producer for the show and find out what their new schedule was looking like.

When the whole Winchester clan finally arrived at the hospital, they found Ash pacing outside the door.

His eyes lit up when they fell on the Winchesters. “Oh my god, guys,” he breathed. “We have been preparing for this for so long but now that it’s happening I am freaking out.”

Dean chuckled at his friend. “How’s she doing, man? How long have you been here?”

“We’ve been here about two hours, maybe. She was having contractions this morning at breakfast so we hurried down here, but her water hasn’t broken yet so she had to have an amniotomy.”

“A what?” Dean asked.

“Amniotomy,”John said. “They have to manually break the amniotic fluid sac around the baby. Happened when Sam was born.”

Ash nodded, and Dean could see him bouncing in place. “I wanted to stay with her, but Jo kicked me out. Imagine kicking me out while my own damn baby’s being induced. She knows I’m freaking out though and I was making her nervous. She’s calm as all get out, man, and she’s the one about to give birth. I don’t know how she does it. And she ain’t even getting an epidural. Doing it all naturally, she says.”

“Anyone else here yet?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Ash replied, rubbing his palms nervously up and down his thighs. “Bobby was the one who drove us here, and went to get some ice chips for Jo. My ma is out of town visiting her parents, but I called her and she’s heading home tonight. Obviously Ellen’s here. Once Jo told me to beat it, Ellen suited up to hold her hand through it. Should be done any minute now, the doc said it was a quick procedure and real labor would start pretty soon afterward cause the baby was already in birthing position.”

As soon as Ash had finished speaking, the door behind them opened and a nurse exited the room with a wheeled tray. The doctor held the door open and motioned for Ash.

“How is she?” he asked quickly, peeking into the room.

“It went well,” the man replied. “And the nurse will stay to time her contractions. If the family would like to offer words of encouragement, now would be a good time because only two are allowed in the delivery room during the birth and her body is gearing up. I’m going to go scrub up again and I’ll be back to check her progress and then soon we’ll delivery your baby,” he finished with a smile.

Ash rushed into the room and Dean and his family were at his heels, Bobby tailing behind with a small paper cup full of crushed ice.

Jo grinned when she saw everyone file in. There was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and her cheeks were flushed with exertion, but just as Ash said, she looked calm and happy. Ellen stood from her chair and hugged everyone in greeting.

“Today’s the day,” she said, smiling nervously and glancing back at her daughter.

“About time, right guys?” Jo said with a chuckle, immediately groaning as a contraction seemingly took over.

Ash whimpered and sat at the chair by one side, grabbing up her hand and letting her squeeze through it.

“You alright, babygirl?” he whispered after it was over and she just nodded and let out a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’re a superhero, dude,” Sam said. “How are you feeling?”

Jo just laughed and slumped back in the bed. “I’m tired already, but I am so ready to stop being pregnant. Where’s Jess?”

“She’s on her way,” Sam replied. “I called her in the car on the way over. And boy do we have some news for you.”

Jo sat up and frowned. “What’s going on?”

Dean slid into the chair on Jo’s other side and gently pushed her back. “Not now, Jo. We’ve got lots of good stuff happening today, but for now let’s just get you...uh...you know, unpregnant.”

Jo snorted and sat back, taking slow, deliberate breaths. She reached out to Bobby, who immediately handed over the cup of ice chips. Before she took any of the chips, another contraction wracked her body and Ash barely saved the cup of ice before grabbing onto her hand and letting her squeeze. Her other hand sought Dean’s out and he let her grip his hand she forced herself to breathe through the pain.

During the contraction, everyone in the room had moved a step closer, nervous and excited to see what happened next. Once she settled, Jo crunched on a few ice chips and Ash fanned her gently with some hospital brochures. When the doctor came back in the room he looked up at the nurse and she nodded at him.

“Her contractions are getting much closer together, we should check her dilation,” the woman said.

The doctor turned to the crowd of people in the room, but Dean didn’t hear what he began to say because Jo tugged at his arm to get his attention.

He looked at her and for the first time, he saw her looking a bit scared.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

Dean glanced over at Ellen, who was listening to the doctor speak and nodding along with whatever it was he was saying. “What...uh, what about your mom? Doesn’t she wanna….”

Jo flapped her hand at him. “Oh please, I damn near broke her hand clean off her wrist when they broke my water. She’ll probably be thrilled.”

Dean laughed quietly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Good. Plus,” she added tiredly, and nodded toward Ash. “I’m gonna need you to help me keep this guy from busting an artery.”

“Oh, har har,” Ash replied, vibrating in his seat.

“Are we ready?” The doctor suddenly asked, clapping his hands and looking at the parents expectantly.

Another contraction answered for her, and Ellen rushed forward to run a soothing hand along her daughters forehead until the worst of it was over.

“I’ll be right outside, baby,” she said and kissed her daughter’s forehead. Jo nodded and held tight to both Dean and Ash’s hands. She smiled at everyone being ushered out of the room and then looked at the doctor, determined. Dean almost laughed at the resolve on her face. She was absolutely ready for this.

They were right when they said that labor would come on quick. The doctor checked how far dilated she was and continued to talk through the process. For a few minutes all Jo did was breathe with Ash breathing along with her. Dean even sort of got caught up in their rhythm as the doctor and nurse fluttered around checking vitals and preparing for the oncoming storm. And then Jo shouted that she could feel her body pushing, but wasn’t sure she could stop it. It was only then that he truly realized there was going to be a tiny human coming _out_ of one of his oldest friends, and he was going to witness it. Dean was terrified, to say the least. He had heard many birth stories throughout his life, his own and Sam’s included, and often times women were known to be in labor for five, six, even ten hours or more. And with the way Jo was squeezing at his hand and mumbling curses at Ash for ever impregnating her in the first place, he wasn’t completely sure the bones in his fingers would make it out of there unscathed. But Jo was so strong, and Ash was her encouraging, if very uneasy, rock that kept her anchored and motivated through it all. An hour and a half, and a few choice swear words, later;

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced, holding the tiny, sobbing ball of attitude.

Jo gave a shuddering laugh and flopped back, reaching her arms out to make grabby hands at her newborn son. The baby was still flecked with red, but otherwise a healthy, finicky little thing. Soon after, the placenta was making its’ pass, so nurse took the baby to wipe him dry, wrap and weigh him.

Once it was over, the nurse brought the baby back swaddled in a warm blue blanket.

“Seven pounds, eight ounces,” she announced with a smile, and settled the baby into Ash’s arms. “You have a very healthy baby.”

Ash placed him onto Jo’s chest and she looked down at him with a tired grin. Ash planted a gentle kiss in his girlfriend’s hair and laid his head down softly near his son, tracing a finger down the newborn’s chubby cheek. Dean couldn’t help the almost-tears that brimmed at his own eyes when he looked at his friends and the life they created.

“I feel disgusting,” Jo sighed, and looked down at her baby. “But I love him so much.”

“I love you, Joanna Beth,” Ash whispered. He looked at Jo, then, with absolute adoration in his eyes for the mother of his child. “I know you’re gonna kick my ass later, for doing this while you’re sweating and exhausted in a hospital bed, but I can’t help myself. Seeing you here, holding our son, is the culmination of everything I’ve ever wanted since I was twelve years old. And I know it’s the only thing I’m ever gonna want for as long as I live.”

Ash paused, caressing Jo’s cheek with his knuckles.

“Marry me, Jo,” he said quietly.

Jo’s face went slack with awe, before bursting into a watery grin and nodding vigorously. They pressed their foreheads together, sharing a moment so intimate and private that Dean had to turn away. His heart soared for his oldest friends and he felt privileged to bear witness to such an astounding moment. They deserved the happiness they found in each other, and in their newborn child. But he couldn’t help the ache he felt. He wanted what they had; a love so strong you could feel it in your bones, a family, and a future together. Maybe not today, but someday. But he only wanted it with one person. And that person was not Ezekiel.

 “Alright, momma,” the nurse said, addressing Jo. “If you plan on breastfeeding, you’ll want to start as soon as possible.”

Jo let the nurse help her settle some pillows around her and dropped the shoulder of her gown, positioning the baby at her breast. It took a few minutes of maneuvering, but soon he was latched and feeding.

“What are you gonna name him?” Dean heard himself ask.

Jo smiled up at him and then looked at her new fiancé. “I was thinking, if it was a boy, about naming him William.”

Jo’s father, William, died when she was young. Before she and Dean were even out of diapers, before they had ever met Ash. Ellen had always told her stories about her dad when she was growing up, and Dean had been lucky enough to hear some of them himself. Sometimes, when they were teenagers, Jo would have bad days where she felt the absence of a father in her life, and sometimes the only way to combat those feelings was to drag out the giant photobooks that held pictures of her dad and repeat the stories her mom had told her to Dean and Ash. Her parents had been deeply in love, just as Jo was with Ash, and it seemed fitting for her son to carry on that legacy.

Ash apparently agreed, because he smiled and nodded. “Sounds perfect,” he replied. “You mind if I go be a stereotypical new dad and announce the arrival of my son to our family and friends?”

Jo just hugged her son tighter to her chest. “Go ahead, do your thing.”

Ash planted one final loud smacking kiss to her cheek and then hurried out to the waiting area to preen bask in his newfound fatherhood and gather their friends and family.

It was quiet for a moment, with only the sounds of the monitors and William quietly nursing to fill the room.

“Hey,” Jo said softly.

Dean looked up, seeing a concerned expression on her face.

She glanced down at her son before looking back at Dean again. “I’m the one who just tore from my V to my A giving birth to this little son of a gun, so why do you look like you’re the one that’s all torn apart? This is supposed to be a happy occasion.”

Dean chuckled at her bluntness. “It is happy, and I’m happy for you. He really is a beautiful baby.”

Jo smiled and stroked her son’s cheek with her thumb. “Then why so sad?”

“I’m not sad,” he replied, reaching out to give the swaddled baby a gentle pat. “Not really. Maybe it’s baby envy. I don’t know. I’m not very good at feeling feelings.”

“Pfft, please Winchester. If anything, you are _too good_ at feeling feelings. And times are a-changin’, Dean,” Jo continued. “There’s a ton of ways for same-sex couples to have babies. Does Ezekiel want more kids?”

Dean shrugged, not trusting himself to answer out loud without his pathetic unrequited love story making a mess of everything.

But, then again, Dean should have remembered that Jo had a penchant for seeing right through people and calling them on their bullshit. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

Even though they were alone in the room for now, Jo still glanced around before speaking again.

“It’s Cas, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he choked out quietly, knowing that there was no point in lying to her.

She smiled sadly at him. “What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head. “But I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I’m not happy, Jo.”

It was the first time he’d admitted that out loud, but he knew immediately that it was true. Ezekiel was a great man, but he wasn’t what Dean wanted. He would never be truly satisfied waking up with him day after day, drinking tooth-rottingly sweet coffee, being arm candy at Hollywood premieres, and having sex that was good but never really lit him up from the inside. He didn’t want to settle, and he certainly didn’t want to force Zeke to settle for someone whose heart wasn’t really in it.

He didn’t have much time to ponder his next move because soon the room was filling with people once again. It was much more crowded than before, both Jess and Ash’s mother finally making it out and a few of Jo’s friends from work. The cheerful environment and excited chatter managed to pull Dean out of his depression enough to join in and celebrate baby William’s arrival in the world with his family and his friends, but soon the medical staff was shooing everyone away. Both Jo and the new baby needed some rest, so they all parted ways with promises to come and see the baby again soon.

He walked to the parking lot with Sam and his father, and gave each of them a one-armed goodbye hug.

“By the way,” his dad said, turning to walk to Sam’s car. “One of these days you and I are going to have ourselves a little chat about Junction City.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered quietly to himself. He was hoping his father had mysteriously forgotten about that.

Sam slugged him on the arm and chuckled. “Busted.”

“You too, Samuel!” John called from the passenger’s seat.

“Haha, bitch,” Dean taunted, and shoved his brother toward his car.

“Shut up, you jerk,” Sam replied and flipped him the bird as he got in his car.

The sky was starting to darken and the ride back to his hotel would be long, quiet, and lonely. Without the thrum of people surrounding him, there was no escaping his own mind. And the only thing on his mind…was Castiel.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my tumblr bros who shared their birth stories with me to help me get some real life pregnancy deets for this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

It was almost ten when Dean finally got back to the hotel. He knew that there were things he and Zeke needed to talk about, but he was desperately hoping it could all just wait for one more day and Zeke would already be fast asleep. They hadn’t spoken since Dean told him about Jo going into labor, and Dean was wracked with guilt when he thought about how little he missed his boyfriend when he was away from him.

That feeling only intensified when he saw that Zeke was not asleep, but waiting up for him on the couch. There was a half empty bottle of scotch on the table and Zeke had a full glass in one hand and his tablet in the other. It was opened to some shady gossip website that his boyfriend had a tendency to idly scroll through.

Usually Zeke would greet him, smiling, and kiss his cheek or his neck, but tonight something was different. The other man looked at Dean with none of the usual light in his eyes, and patted the seat empty seat beside him.

“We should talk, Dean,” he said, placing his glass and the tablet on the table.

 _‘You have no idea how right you are,’_ Dean thought to himself as he sat.

“Look,” he said, facing Zeke. “I’m sorry I was gone all day, but a lot of stuff has happened—”

Zeke put up a hand to stop him. “That’s not—No, that’s not what I want to talk about. I talked to Martin today, Dean.”

“And?” Dean asked. He was almost scared to hear whatever news would be coming. Logically he knew that they had a job to do, and that he was beyond lucky to get this time off with his family, but he wasn’t quite ready for it to end. Coming back to Kansas had proved to be an emotional rollercoaster, but it was home. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed away for so long, and now he was going to have to leave again. He was lucky, though, that Zeke had such a longstanding friendship with their director, Martin Creaser. Once his boyfriend told his friend about what happened to Dean’s mother, Martin was happy to shuffle around their schedule so Dean could be with his family.

Zeke looked down as he spoke. “I’m going back to England tomorrow, Dean.”

“Tomorrow?” Dean repeated. “But that’s so soon. We were supposed to have another week to go to California.”

“No, Dean,” Zeke said, finally looking him in the eye. “ _I’m_ going back to England tomorrow. Alone.”

Dean frowned. “Why?”

“I think you should stay here, and be with your family. Martin has offered to break your contract for this season so you can remain in the states,” Zeke finished.

“You told him to take me off the show?” Dean asked, growing irrationally angry. “Why would you make that decision for me?”

Dean wasn’t sure why he was so offended. The show wasn’t particularly special to him, aside from it being an enjoyable job. And it’s true he wasn’t looking forward to heading back to England, but he wasn’t sure why this was all happening _now_.

Zeke topped off his glass and took a large drink. “I didn’t ask him to kick you off, Dean, I asked if you could voluntarily break your contract. It would only be for this year’s filming, and then you could come back for season three if you felt ready. I thought you’d be happy about this.”

“What made you think that, Zeke?” Dean asked.

Zeke grabbed his tablet and scrolled as he spoke.

“I have been very preoccupied, Dean, with my work, my family, and myself. If I hadn’t been, perhaps I’d have realized sooner. We’ve been together half a year, and we knew each other for months before. I’ve seen you laugh, and cry, and throw milk at some creep who wouldn’t leave the barista alone at Starbucks.”

Dean laughed, despite his confusion. He remembered that day well. It was the day Zeke had first asked him out for coffee.

“But Dean,” he continued. “I’ve never seen you look like _this_.”

Ezekiel handed him the tablet. Dean looked down to see the headline _‘Guardians’ leading man, Ezekiel Fairbank, has some competition in Kansas’_ and a picture of himself from the bar the previous night . But he wasn’t alone. It was a picture of him dancing with Castiel, both smiling softly with eyes only for each other. It must have been taken after their song had begun to play, because Cas’ arms were around his neck and he could see his own hands fisted in the fabric at Cas’ hips.

Dean felt a single tear slip down his cheek, and he was quick to wipe it away. Zeke took the tablet from him and he dropped his head into his now-empty hands, feeling dejected.

“Please look at me,” Zeke requested softly.

Dean just shook his head. He knew that this was best, and that the truth had to come out eventually, but he just wasn’t ready. Zeke sighed and scooted closer, grabbing one of Dean’s hands between his own. So, finally, Dean met his gaze. He wasn’t angry or upset. He looked almost thoughtful as he stroked his thumb gently over Dean’s knuckles.

“You feel something for him that I can’t compete with, Dean,” Zeke said. “And I don’t want to. Not anymore. It seems that we’ve both been dishonest, with each other and with ourselves.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, his voice cracking.

Zeke squeezed his hand. “People like to believe that everyone will have one great love in their life. Even I believe it. I’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see that Castiel is yours. It should hurt me to know that I’m not the love of your life, but it doesn’t. Because you’re not mine either. I will never be able to feel for you what I feel for Wendy.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Thomas’ mom?”

Zeke nodded. “So many things have kept her and I apart, but I have always believed that someday I would find my way back to her. After Thomas was born, seeing the two of them together, I knew I’d love her for the rest of my life. That might seem silly—”

“It’s not,” Dean interrupted. He remembered the look of wonder on Ash’s face when he gazed at Jo and William and he smiled. “It’s not silly at all. I understand.”

Zeke released Dean’s hands, grabbed his half-full glass, and relaxed back into the couch. Dean followed his lead, sinking into the cushions. They were pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, and they shared a moment of silence.

Zeke took a deep breath and spoke again. “Knowing what we know now, I think it would be unwise to continue as we have.”

Dean looked up and met his eyes. “You breaking up with me?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Zeke said with a small, sad smile.

Dean sighed and rested his head on Zeke’s shoulder.

 “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, sad-ish chapter, featuring Dean's One Perfect Tear.


	21. Chapter 21

“Good luck, darling,” Balthazar said with a wave as he watched Castiel follow the surgeon’s nurse through a pair of swinging double doors.

  
The younger man flashed him a nervous smile in response before disappearing. Although the two of them, and Balthazar’s old friend Stannis, were mostly certain that what Castiel had was just a cyst, their morning in the waiting room had been a quiet, contemplative one. Castiel was nervous and jittery, but they both knew that he’d be so much happier, so much more confident in his sexuality if he could ease his pesky bottoming problem. So Castiel had put on his brave face and come to Dr. Richmond’s practice for a physical examination and a colonoscopy; just to make sure there were no more cysts deeper within his body. Balthazar accompanied him for support, and to drive his anesthetized ass home, because that’s what friends/fake boyfriends do. However, Charlie was the real hero in the whole situation because she had to take care of a whiny Castiel the day before, while he was confined to his apartment with a bottle of magnesium citrate and a weepy attitude. It had been four days since their outing with Dean and Ezekiel and Castiel wouldn't stop grumbling about frozen showers and caramel macchiatos.

  
To keep himself from fidgeting while he waited, he picked up a copy of Architectural Digest from the table beside him and casually flipped through the magazine. He read the blurbs without really comprehending, mind constantly straying to Castiel’s well being. He loved the man, that was for sure. But, unlike Dean, his love for Castiel was a small, gentle thing. It was something warm that made him smile, despite knowing that he would never be the one Castiel truly wanted. It didn’t hurt because Balthazar knew his feelings would settle and lithify platonically; no broken hearts, just an unbreakable friendship. Dean, though; Dean was Icarus and Castiel was the sun, and Dean wanted nothing more than to burn and burn hard. It only took meeting him once for Balthazar to figure that out.

  
After a few minutes of contemplating a terrible roofing pattern on the magazine’s current page, a quiet buzzing sound caught Balthazar’s attention. It was coming from Castiel’s messenger bag that he’d left in the waiting room, along with his sweater. He dug through the front pocket and pulled out Castiel’s cell phone, only to see Dean’s name flashing on the screen. He knew that he could let it go to voicemail, but the temptation was too great. He swiped to accept and put the phone to his ear.

  
“Castiel Novak’s phone,” he greeted cheerfully. 

  
He was met with a few seconds of silence before a tentative voice spoke. “Uh…I, um…Balthazar?”

  
“Speaking,” he replied.

  
“Hey, man, it’s, uh…It’s Dean.”

  
Balthazar smirked to himself. “Yes, Dean, I do know how to read the caller ID. What can I do for you today?”

  
There was some shuffling on the other end before Dean responded. “I just had something I sort of needed to speak to Cas about. Is he around?”

  
“Mm, no, I’m afraid not,” Balthazar said, wondering how much of the current situation he should relay to Dean. “He’s seeing the surgeon right now.”

“S-surgeon?!” Dean yelled. “What happened to him? Is he--”

“Dean,” Balthazar interrupted. “Calm down, damn you. Castiel is fine. He’s being seen for something more…elective, I suppose.”

“Elective?” Dean repeated. “Like plastic surgery? Why is he getting work done, man, are you making him do it? Cas is perfect the way he is, I can’t see him getting some nonsense plastic surgery unless he was pressured into it.”

Balthazar would have been offended at Dean’s accusatory tone if he didn’t find it so hilarious.

“Dean, I assure you he’s not being pressured into what he’s doing. It's really not my place to discuss his medical issues with you so I’ll let him know you called and he can explain. Would you like me to take a message?”

Dean exhaled noisily on the other line. “No, I don’t think so. Just…just have him call me back, please. It's pretty important.”

"Of course," he responded. "He'll probably be loopy from anesthesia for a few hours, but once he's back to his charming self I'll have him ring you."

Dean thanked him and cut the call quickly, leaving Balthazar to roll his eyes at the phone in his hand.

"Bloody lovesick puppy," he muttered to himself with a shake of his head.

The procedure wasn't supposed to be a long one, but boredom set in as Balthazar flipped through one, then two, and then three of the thickest magazines in the waiting area. About 45 minutes had passed when he finally became restless, deciding to stand and pace around the nearly empty room instead. Thankfully he was only pacing for a few moments before the nurse who came to retrieve Castiel emerged once again.

She waved him over with her hand. "Mr. Novak is asking for you, sir."

Balthazar gathered up Cas' messenger bag and jacket and followed the nurse to the back, all the way to room number six where Castiel was staring sleepily at his own fingers opening and closing into a fist.

"Oh darling," Balthazar started, trying hard not to laugh.

"Balthazar," Stannis greeted, extending his hand.

Balthazar clasped his hand and nodded at him. "Stannis," he replied. "Good to see you. Thank you for doping him up real good."

"Am not," Castiel replied sluggishly, eyes not leaving his flexing fingers.

Stannis laughed. "He's actually coming out of it quite nicely. He's been awake about fifteen minutes. Would you like to know how the procedure went?"

"Am I allowed to know that?"

Stannis nodded. "Before he went under he did give express permission to relay the results to you. And during his consoltation Monday he signed a form allowing us to release his medical documents to you, should he not be available. And I'd argue he's a tad unavailable right now."

"Am _nooooot_ ," Castiel said again, stretching out the word with a whine. "You told me it was good, I remember good."

Balthazar smiled at his friend and placed a stabilizing arm around his shoulders. "Is he right, doc? Was it all good?"

Stannis nodded. "I am confident in confirming that he has no worrisome issues in his rectum or intestinal tract. He does have one prostatic cyst, nearing 3.5 centimeters just below the surface skin in the rectum. It's not dangerous to him so he could choose not to have it removed, but the surgery is a quick outpatient procedure with a healing period of 3 to 6 months. Generally the body is finished healing superficially within the first month, but the 3 to 6 months is how long we recommend to abstain from sex or masturbation with penetration to ensure the internal healing will not be disrupted."

"Masturbation with penetration," Castiel repeated. "Masturbation penetration. Why does that sound like something from Schoolhouse Rock?" he said with a snort. " _Conjunction Junction, what's your functioooooon_?" he sang quietly to himself before flopping back onto the exam table and closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

Both men pursed their lips in an effort not to laugh. After a few seconds, Stannis continued. "The healing period will be strained for the first two weeks because removal of the cyst will open the skin of the anal cavity and make him more prone to an infection of the area, so he will need to come in for checkups once a week during the first month to make sure the removal site is healing. And, of course, I'll be going over all of this and more with him when we meet for our follow up on Friday morning."

"Alright," Balthazar clapped Stannis on the shoulder. "Thank you for seeing him on such short notice. Is there anything else or can I drag his goofy ass home now?"

"He's free to go," Stannis replied. "But make sure you don't leave him alone until the anesthesia completely wears off. He'll mostly just be very drowsy, but some people have some mild nausea after coming down so he may feel sick. He'll need some liquids and easy to digest food as soon as he's up to it."

Balthazar thanked him again and wrangled a very pouty, tired Castiel to the car with a surprising lack of trouble. Once inside the vehicle, Castiel was awake and aware enough to tell Balthazar everything he'd just heard, but in his own syrupy, morphine-induced words, and with many extravagant hand gestures. He knew that his friend wasn't blacked out, just a little dopey, but still he decided to wait until he'd gotten some food and rest before announcing that Dean had called.

Balthazar buckled his closest friend in and grabbed both of his hands, waiting until Castiel was looking him in the eye before speaking.  
"Castiel, I am going to need you to sit still while we drive home and then you can tell me all about it, alright?"

Castiel just blinked at at him slowly with a sleepy smile and nodded. He closed his eyes and pushed his cheek against the cool window of the car, finally staying still enough for Balthazar to drive safely in the heavy afternoon traffic.

He wasn't expecting more from Castiel during the ride, wholly believing he would fall asleep for real, but a few minutes into their journey home the doped up fool started grumbling to himself and scrubbing at his face with his hands.

"That guy's a dumb idiot," Castiel muttered, sinking lower into his seat.

Balthazar frowned. "Who? My friend, the doctor? He's a dumb idiot?"

"Noooo," Cas whined. "Not him. Dean."

"Dean," Balthazar repeated, and Castiel nodded. "Dean is a dumb idiot?"

"Yes."

"But I thought you liked Dean."

"I do!" Castiel insisted loudly, flailing one arm out in front of him. "That is precisely why he is a dumb idiot. The dumbest dumb idiot."

Balthazar tried to hide his smile, continuing the drive while Cas grumped quietly in the seat next to him. After a few minutes he went silent and Balthazar had just assumed he was resting his eyes again finally. Remembering that Stannis said he should give Castiel some light sustenance, he turned to ask his friend if he'd like him to pick up some soup from the deli around the corner from his house. But instead of seeing Castiel nearly sleeping like he assumed, he saw him gazing sadly out the window with a trembling lower lip and unshed tears in his eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's the matter?" he asked, moving his right hand from the wheel to Cas' shoulder.

Cas sniffled quietly and shook his head. "He's not a dumb idiot, I am. And now he hates me."

Balthazar sighed and pulled into the nearest parking lot. It was a large retail store and he drove to the emptiest section of the lot and parked.

"Castiel, look at me."

Cas glanced at him, mouth turned down sadly and pinkness flushing his face while he struggled not to cry.

"He does not hate you," Balthazar assured.

"Does too," the younger man replied sadly.

"Cas-"

"--No! You don't understand," Cas interrupted, swiping at his eyes. " Someone took a picture of us."

"When?"

"At Players," he slurred. "It was online. A picture of me n'him dancin'."

Balthazar sighed at him. "Castiel, people dance, it's a thing they do."

"It's gone now anyway," Castiel sniffled. "They made it go'way and now he'll never speak to me again."

"Made it go away?" Balthazar repeated. "What do you mean?"

Castiel just shrugged and waved his hands. "I dunno, but one day it was on that dumb gossip site Charlie reads and the next it was gone. Poof! Like it _neeeever_ happened. But he saw, I know he saw. Why else would they have tried to make it go away?"

"Castiel, darling, the paparazzi take pictures out of context all the time. You were dancing, not fucking. I promise he doesn't hate you."

"He does," the other man insisted. "I know he does, cause I'd hate me too."

Balthazar sighed deeply, unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward Castiel. He gathered up both of his friends hands in his and waited until the younger man was looking at his face.

"Castiel, listen to me. Dean does not hate you. If Dean did somehow make the photo go away then it was probably to protect you from further scrutiny or questioning, not to protect themselves." Castiel's lip still wobbled and he looked down at his lap in resignation. He knew he should wait until Castiel had rested for a while, but the pitiful sadness he was seeing in his friend was too much to bear. "Alright, I wasn't going to tell you this until you were done surfing the morphine wave, but Dean called while you were having your insides photographed."

Cas' eyes widened. "What? Why didn't you tell me sooner!"

"Because you're high, love."

Cas just frowned up at him, disbelief and confusion written all over his face. "He called me?"

Balthazar nodded and Castiel immediately reached for his messenger bag, no doubt to pull out his cell phone and call Dean back immediately. Balthazar batted at his hands and pushed him back into his seat, and just to be safe, he took Castiel's phone from the side pocket of his bag and tossed it in the backseat.

"You are not calling him back right now. You are going to go home, drink a large glass of water, eat some damn soup, take a nap, and only when you return to your normal, functioning self, may you call him back."

A myriad of betrayed expressions crossed Cas' face, but eventually he just huffed and sat back with his arms crossed over his chest. "Fine," he mumbled.  
Confident that they could make the rest of the trip home in peace, Balthazar started the car and headed toward the deli to get his ridiculous friend some soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is a dumb idiot, pass it on
> 
>  
> 
> P. S. Anyone who followed me on Tumblr will notice that I've deleted my blog. I just ignored it too much for too long, it didn't seem logical to keep it. But don't worry, this story will go on.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may notice that I deleted the 2nd installment of this series, which was a timestamp from the firs story's timeline. It was basically just a one shot and after having reread it I just noticed so many errors and inconsistencies with the grammar that I didn't feel like fixing. Also the whole thing only got like 10 reads and not many people particularly enjoyed it as a timestamp so I just dumped it.

Several hours after his brief conversation with Balthazar, while Dean was still quietly seething over the words _elective surgery_ , Cas' name popped up on his caller ID. He was too concerned for the other's wellbeing to worry about seeming too eager, so he picked up on the first ring. 

"Hey," he greeted. "How are you feeling, man?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Castiel replied, sounding amused. " Balthazar told me you had quite a reaction when he told you I was having a procedure done."

Dean sunk down into the couch cushions, embarrassed. He was suddenly very glad that his father had gone out with Sam so no one was around to witness the flush he could feel spreading across his cheeks. 

"Well, he said _elective_ surgery," Dean argued. "If that doesn't scream boob, butt, or nose job, I don't know what does."

"Oh my god," Castiel responded, laughing lightly. "Don't worry, Dean, I'm just having a cyst removed."

Dean let out a relieved sigh, but then frowned in confusion."Man, what kind of cyst do you need to be knocked out to remove? That must be a doozy, Cas, are you sure you're alright?"

"Well," Cas started, voice suddenly a bit higher. Dean could hear small puffs of breath over the line as Cas struggled to find the words to continue. Finally, in a quiet voice, Cas went on. 

"I guess, well, it's sort of like a butt job."

Dean went still. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

"Oh my god," Dean blurted out. 

"Precisely."

"Is that why--?"

"Yes," Cas responded, not letting him finish.

"Oh my god," Dean repeated. "I'm so sorry I just badgered you into telling me something so personal. When you said cyst I thought, like, your arm or something. I didn't think it was like... _inside you_."

Dean immediately slapped a hand to his forehead, humiliated, wondering why he chose to use those specific words. 

"Well," Castiel said, sounding thoughtful. "Once upon a time I made it my business to be all up inside you, only seems fair to reciprocate."

Dean's embarrassment shattered, turning instantly to a red hot zing of lust. He most definitely remembered the days when Castiel used to be _all up inside of him_ and it sent a flush down his chest for a whole other reason. And hearing Cas let his guard down and make suggestive jokes reminded Dean once more how much he's missed the man's dry and dirty humor. He barked out a surprised laugh, only to find himself unable to stop once he'd started. Hilarity and desire were warring inside him and it resulted in a string of hysterical chuckles that made Cas groan.

"I am so sorry," Cas said, ignoring Dean's giggling fit. "I really should have waited a few more hours before calling you back. I'm afraid my brain to mouth filter hasn't quite collected itself after my nap."

Dean wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and smiled into the phone. "It's alright, Cas, you know you never have to be anyone but yourself with me."

Castiel went silent for a few seconds before clearing his throat. "So, um, why were you calling me this afternoon?"

Dean startled, having forgotten for a moment that he had serious things to discuss with Cas. 

He sighed and began. "Right. Well, it's about my mom."

"Go ahead, Dean," Cas urged. "I'm listening."

"It's kind of about you too," Dean said, wiping a nervous hand down his face. 

"Me?" Cas asked, confused. 

"Okay, so some new evidence came up in my mom's case" he started. "You remember how I told you that bitch was gonna walk away with just a slap on the wrist?"  
Cas made an affirmative sound, waiting for him to continue. 

"Well, a witness came forward. Someone from her past who threw a wrench in the whole thing and made it so we have a chance to put her away for a real long time."

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath. "That...that's wonderful, Dean!"

"Maybe not," Dean replied quietly. When he was met with silence, he continued. "See, this guy from her past can bring her whole empire down. But, well, he's not just from her past. He's from ours too and I just wouldn't feel right if I let this happen without telling you."

"What are you talking about?"

Dean took a deep breath. "It's Crowley. He got involved with that damn gang a while back and he has the goods to put her away, but...but what he did to you, Cas-"

"Almost did," Cas interrupted. 

Dean shook his head even though Cas couldn't see him. "Well, _almost_ is enough to make me hate him for the rest of eternity, and you probably do too, but I just can't see a way to do this without him, I'm so sorry," Dean could feel his voice wobbling by the end of his apology. He had been so ecstatic to hear that his mother's killer would be brought to justice, but knowing that it meant a free pass for a man who had almost brutalized Cas was tearing him apart inside. He wanted to put the bitch who killed his mom in jail, and he hoped he wouldn't have to lose Castiel's friendship in the process. He swiped angrily at his eyes, wishing he was doing anything but this, and waited for Cas' response. 

When Cas finally spoke again, he was quiet. 

"I don't hate him, Dean," he said. 

"How could you not?" Dean croaked back, voice rough as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Crowley was just a spoiled little rich boy who thought the world owed him something. He was an angry soul who let his hatred get the best of him and now he's a criminal. I don't hate him, Dean, I feel sorry for him."

"So, you're not angry with me for helping him make a deal?" Dean asked hopefully.

"You listen to me, Dean Winchester," Cas said, his voice low and serious. "I wasn't close to Mary, but I loved her even though I knew her so little. So I can't even begin to imagine how you're feeling; same with your father and Sam. I made my peace with what happened with Crowley, knowing that justice was served as it should be. If he can help you feel that same kind of peace, knowing that the monster responsible for what happened to your mother is behind bars, I want you to do it."

Dean let a shaky breath, one he didn't realize he was holding. 

"And I don't want you beating yourself up over this any longer," Cas added. "Do you hear me?"

Dean laughed softly at the sternness of Cas' voice. "You're so good, Cas. I can't fucking believe it."

Cas snorted into the phone. "Not too good," he said. "I can't say that it's not wholly satisfying to see where Crowley's choices landed him. He deserved every twist and turn that brought him there, and I'm glad he fucked up because it inadvertently led to a solution for you."

Dean clenched the fist not holding the phone, frustrated with how much he felt for the man on the other end of the line. 

"So what happens now, Dean?" Cas asked. "With the case, I mean."

"Her sentence hearing is next Monday. I can't wait to see how far she goes under after all this," he admits.

Cas hums agreeably. "So, it's safe to say you'll be in town a few more days?"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, Cas. I've actually got a whole lot of nothing to do on Friday if you want to give lunch another try?" 

"Absolutely," Cas replied, seeming happy. "How about I come to you this time?"

"Sure," Dean replied, and rattled off the name and address of his hotel. Soon after, they said their goodbyes and Dean lingered on the line for several seconds after Cas hung up, just basking in the peace of mind that Cas had bestowed upon him that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make some excuse for how long this update took, but honestly this time, the days just got away from me and I forgot. BUT. I think you'll all be pleased to hear we're on the home stretch with this story, Maybe 3-4 chapters left, depending on whether or not I'm including the epilogue. I can do an epilogue with the story, or make it a separate installment. I'm interested to know everyone's opinions on how they'd prefer to read it so if you comment, please take a sec to let me know which you'd rather read it as!


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